The End Of An Era
by InsideOutlaw
Summary: Sequel to Moving On. The gang is back at the Hole and Heyes is looking for trouble.
1. Chapter 1

The cold, clear sunlight ricocheted off the red rock of the canyon walls blinding him with its clarity. He sat, shivering slightly, in one of the two old rockers on the porch of the leader's cabin. In his hand, he clutched a hot mug of coffee, brewed just the way he liked it. He took a satisfied sip, savored it for a moment, and squinted again at the sun just beginning its ascent. The valley floor was still in shadows and a heavy frost blanketed the ground. The day would be cold, but clear. The Kid pulled another gulp from his steaming mug.

They'd arrived late last night by the meager light of a crescent moon. Wheat and Kyle had led the way in as their horses knew the trail into Devil's Hole; Heyes's new gelding, and his own, did not. It had been an exhausting four-day ride from Golden, Colorado, to the hideout. Heyes had set a punishing pace the entire trip, often riding so far ahead that the Kid had become alarmed, especially as they had neared the Hole. It wasn't unusual for more enterprising bounty hunters and lawmen to frequent the area surrounding the hideout in hopes of stumbling across an outlaw or two; and there hadn't been anything the Kid could do to stop Heyes. The Kid knew all too well that he was nursing a battered heart and he trailed along behind his partner doing his best to cover his back. Heyes was licking his wounds and hadn't said much since they'd ridden through the gate of Second Chance Ranch. He had paused once, mid-way down the drive, for one last look at Allie Golden, and then he had turned away, dropping the smile he'd forced upon his face. The scowl that had replaced it had never wavered during the long, hard ride to Wyoming.

If he was honest with himself, the Kid wasn't feeling all that glad to be home either. He'd loved Allie, too, and had even thought for a short time that she might be the one for him. He remembered her slow, steady mutation from city girl to outlaw queen. Ironic, that he, one of the most successful outlaws the West had known, would prefer the quiet, charming city girl. He'd enjoyed the feeling of being part of a family, too. Heyes had been a slightly different story. He'd fallen hard for Allie Golden, not Alyssa Harcourt; the woman she'd been before she'd changed her name and ridden with the gang. Leaving her behind had hurt Heyes badly and he'd be a long time recovering. Selfishly, the Kid also worried about what that would mean for him and the other members of the gang.

Curry had peeked into his partner's room before setting the coffee pot to brew and Heyes had been soundly asleep, the comforter pulled up tight to his chin and his orange cat, Lucifer, curled up next to his chest, purring loudly. That scruffy tomcat had shown up while they were unpacking with a dead mouse in his mouth, somehow aware his human was back. He'd waltzed into the cabin, announcing his arrival around a mouthful of rodent, and dropped his tribute at Heyes's feet wagging his stump of a tail in welcome. Heyes had reached down to pat the cat's head in a distracted manner and continued emptying his saddlebags while the Kid swooped in to dispose of the tiny body. He hated having that damn feline in the cabin, he belonged outside with the other animals. Luce had completely ignored his disapproval and contently curled up in front of the blazing fireplace not moving until a silent Heyes had walked into his room for bed. A small, orange streak had squeezed through the doorway as it slammed shut.

The clang of the old, dented pot reached him through the cabin walls and he knew Heyes was awake. Sighing, he took another sip of his coffee. He felt the need to steel himself for his partner's appearance. He knew the man was struggling with his feelings. Just once, he wished Heyes would grieve like a normal man, but he wasn't like other men. He'd be nursing up this hurt, thinking on it, letting it grow until it manifested itself in some new, crazy scheme. The cabin door swung open and Heyes, along with Luce, stepped out. The cat ran down the steps and across the yard into the barn as Heyes watched him go.

"Morning," said the Kid eying his friend who looked rumpled and tired as he carried out a steaming mug and sat down across from him. Heyes sipped his hot drink making no comment on the coffee. That wasn't a good sign. As much as he hated Heyes's coffee, his partner felt the same about the milder brew he favored. Finally, his dark-haired cousin cleared his throat and spoke.

"I was thinking I'd ride into Belton today. Maybe take Preacher with me. He can fill me in on what still needs to be done for winter and I have a few things I want to pick up."

Curry waited; now that Heyes was talking, he wasn't about to plug the leak in the dam. He sipped his coffee knowing there was more to come.

"Snow's going to hit soon and I want to be ready. I've got a few ideas for some jobs I'd like to work out while the weather's bad."

Blue eyes shifted to brown. That hadn't taken too long; planning new jobs was a very good sign.

"I'm still dead, you know. I figure that opens up some opportunities." Heyes smiled slightly, the thought of thievery never failed to please him.

"You know, you could change your mind. Take Allie and go south; no one would be the wiser," offered the Kid.

The smile fell from his partner's face and he growled, "Why would I do that, Kid? I love her."

"Ain't that reason enough?"

"To take her away from the only family she knows? She'd have to disappear with me; never see them or even write to them again. There are just too many people who knew she was with me; that I'm alive. You think I could do that to her- to you?"

"To me?" Blue eyes widened.

Heyes looked down into his coffee mug. He hadn't meant for that last part to slip out and he answered very, very softly, "You're the only family I have, Kid. Do you want me to ride outta your life?"

"No, Heyes, I don't. But what I do want is for you to be happy. Can you do that without Allie?" He sure hoped so, because if his partner couldn't, there'd be hell to pay for the rest of them.

"I don't know, but I do know that we wouldn't be happy if I rob her of her family. Look, I'm done talking about it. I made the break and I'm not looking back." Heyes stood up and stepped off the porch, walking towards the storehouse, his shoulders slumping slightly.

OOOOOOOOOO

"I'm tellin' you, boys, Heyes is a changed man. He's been domesticated. That little gal led him around by his nose like a tamed bear," laughed Wheat.

"No, she didn't, Wheat. He would've stayed if that was true," said Kyle, frowning at his partner. He was tired of the insinuations that had been woven into the story of the past few weeks. As usual, Wheat hadn't missed any opportunities to undermine Heyes with the rest of the gang and had embellished his own role; going so far as to claim he'd had to "save Heyes's ass more'n once."

"Who's tellin' this story?" growled Wheat.

"You is and you ain't doing a good job of it neither; shame on you talkin' about Miss Allie like that. She's a special lady and you know it," Kyle spit a gob of chaw into the spittoon he had brought over to the table. He narrowed his eyes and stared hard at his partner, challenging him, then smiled slowly and said, "Why don't you boys ask ol' Wheat here, how Miss Allie scared the pants off him for fighting with Heyes or how he managed to git himself shot by the Kid while savin' ass?" A ripple of laughter slid around the room and across the faces of the rough outlaws gathered at the scarred old table of the bunkhouse. Wheat turned red and the men knew what Kyle said was true. Wheat wanted to lead the gang and they were all amused by his heavy-handed attempts to take Heyes down a notch, but they knew who kept the money in their pockets, the food on their table, and, more importantly, who was backed by Kid Curry.

"I ain't scared of no little slip of a gal like Miss Allie," blustered Wheat.

"Then you ain't smart enough to lead this gang," countered Kyle, grinning.

OOOOOOOOOO

During the ride into Belton, Heyes was aware of the Preacher watching him. He knew that Wheat would've told the boys the whole story, puffing up his own importance. Everything that had happened since he'd sent them back to the Hole after the debacle with Decker. Well, let him look. He wasn't answering questions and he sure as hell wasn't justifying himself to his men. He knew better than anyone that weakness was a fatal flaw in an outlaw leader; one he wouldn't allow.

By mid-afternoon, Heyes and Preacher had gathered their supplies with one exception. Leaving his man to pack the mule they had brought with them, Heyes walked up the street to re-enter the General Store. Mr. Perkins stood behind the counter and watched as his best customer came through the door again. The fine folks of Belton were quite fond of the Devil's Hole gang and treated them as honored guests.

It had been a shock when the news of Heyes's demise had hit the town. Economic panic had run through the town before the gang's next supply trip into Belton. Thank goodness, the Preacher had quickly spread the word that Heyes was alive and well. Perkins had even been giving serious consideration to selling his store and pulling up stakes for greener pastures. Besides the boys from the Hole, there wasn't much else keeping this place going. There weren't many residents left in this backwater dust bowl, and the ones that were still here were hanging on by a thread; none of them would do anything to hurt the mutually beneficial relationship with the outlaws. The temptation to try and collect the big rewards on Heyes and Curry was tempered by the knowledge that retribution by the gang would be swift. It was smarter and far safer to take the business thrown their way and welcome the outlaws into their town. Course, it helped that the closest sheriff was many miles away.

"Did you forget something, Heyes?" asked the tall, gangly man as the little bell over the door tinkled merrily.

"I did, Henry. Do you have a copy of next year's Farmer's Almanac?"

"Just got 'em in last week; you ain't plannin' to turn sodbuster on us, are you?" laughed Mr. Perkins loudly.

Heyes grinned. His folks had been sodbusters in Kansas and he knew, all too well, the hard work and grueling determination that went into trying eke out a living from the unforgiving earth. "Nope, I just wanted something to read over the winter. Matter of fact, if you have any of Twain's books, you can toss them in, too."

"I got a couple. Give me a minute to dig 'em out." The storekeeper disappeared into his back room and Heyes heard the sound of boxes being moved about. He leaned his back against the smooth oaken counter and glanced out the window. Preacher was riding up the street leading Heyes's gelding and the mule. Mr. Perkins came back carrying several books. "Here they are."

Heyes nodded and smiled. "I'll take them all."

"Let's see, that'll be a dollar fifty for the two books and two bits for the almanac."

"Fair enough," said Heyes, tossing three silver dollars on the counter, "Keep the change and have a good winter, Henry."

"You, too, Heyes."

The outlaw leader picked up the books and started out the door looking down at the title of the top one. 'The Innocents Abroad'. This caused a chuckle to float out of him. He'd enjoy reading this one. He hadn't been abroad yet and he'd sure as hell never been innocent.

OOOOOOOOOO

"I tell you he isn't right. The man didn't rub together two words the entire ride there and back. He's dreaming something up and I'll bet you a month of Sundays it's going to be risky," growled the Preacher while unpacking the mule in the Devil's Hole barn. Hank had come out in the cold dusk to help him carry in the supplies and had just lifted a bag of flour out of the panniers that straddled the pack mule. The normally placid Preacher had been both offended and worried by his leader's silence. It had put him in a bad mood, too, and made him more gossipy than normal.

The erroneous news of Heyes's death had shaken the outlaw gang and, before the telegram arrived assuring them that their leader was still alive, there'd been a lot of discussion on what would happen next. The gang had even gone so far as agreeing that they'd give Wheat a shot despite his arrogance. Once they knew Heyes was alive things had settled down again; until now. Now their leader showed all the signs of being in a temper and the gang knew that meant trouble for them. They'd been hoping for a break and time to spend some of the money they'd already stolen; not go looking for more.

Preacher complained on, "I thought we'd have a quiet winter. The man just pulled in more money in the last few months than the whole rest of the last year. Why's he looking for trouble and what's he planning?"

"I reckon we'll be the first to know," said Hank as he walked out of the barn. He was a man of little imagination and preferred to leave the speculating to others. Life was better that way.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Why'd you go and embarrass me like that in front of the men last night?" growled Wheat, still angry his partner would turn on him like he had. He and Kyle were butchering the side of beef Heyes had brought in. They were going to have a celebration tomorrow and cook a large roast. It was their job to salt the rest of the meat and hang it for the winter.

Kyle whacked the carcass hard with the meat cleaver he held, wedging it into the maple butcher block. He let go of the hilt and wiped his hands on the greasy towel hanging from his gun belt. "You were makin' a fool of yourself."

Wheat exploded, "Dammit, Kyle, what harm did it do if I embroidered a tad? You're my partner. You're supposed to watch my back!"

The smaller outlaw frowned at his friend and shook his head in annoyance. "I was watchin' your back. You keep shootin' off your mouth about Heyes and you're gonna git yourself killed. You already forget Heyes nearly shot you recently? Seems to me you were pushin' too hard then, too."

An involuntary shudder went through Wheat at the remembrance of facing down the barrel of Heyes's Schofield. He'd really thought he was a dead man. The look in his leader's eyes had told him he was, and, if it hadn't been for Kyle stepping in front of the gun, he'd be pushing up daisies right now. How had he forgotten that already? Kyle was right, he had to watch his big mouth, but he wasn't about to admit that. Not to his partner and definitely not to the other men.

"I ain't afraid of Heyes or the Kid. I ain't afraid of no man," blustered Wheat, putting his hands on his hips and silently daring Kyle to contradict him.

Kyle narrowed one eye and shot a wet missile of chaw at his partner's boot tips. "Good to know, partner. Guess I can have them words etched on your headstone right now. It'll save time later." He reached out and pried the cleaver from the wood, and started to butcher the meat again.

OOOOOOOOOO

Heyes was sitting by the fire with Luce curled up in his lap. He had the Farmer's Almanac opened and was holding it in one hand while grasping a glass of whiskey in the other and reading intently. Curry was sitting on the settee repairing a broken bridle and he began humming softly as he went about the task.

Dark eyes looked up at the source of the sound. He stared hard at the Kid hoping he'd get the message, but his partner sat with his head bent and kept humming an off-key, unintelligible tune. Heyes returned to his book, hoping it would distract him from his growing irritation. It didn't.

"Do you have to do that?" snarled Heyes.

"Do what?" The blond head rose. He knew the sound would provoke a response from Heyes. He was tired of the silent treatment.

"Hum like that. It's driving me crazy."

The Kid smiled slyly. It was the worst thing Heyes's could've said; he loved to drive his partner nuts. "I like to hum while I work; passes the time." He put his head back down and drew a deep breath so he could project the sound more loudly.

"Well, could you quit it? I'm trying to read here."

"You can still read while I hum, Heyes. Ain't no law against humming."

"There ought to be a law against you humming. You sound like a sick cow."

"No call for you to get proddy. All you gotta do is ask me nicely to stop."

"All right, would you please stop humming?" asked Heyes with a phony niceness.

"Sure."

The humming stopped and Heyes returned to his reading. Several long minutes passed and he began to relax. The Kid kept his head bent over his own work, but watched his partner covertly. He saw the tenseness go out of the other man's shoulders and he grinned slightly. One booted foot began to tap out a cadence and the shoulders snapped to attention again. The Farmer's Almanac flew past Curry's head, but he kept the beat in spite of having to duck sharply to the right.

"Kid!"

"Hey, relax. I was just twisting your tail a bit. You've been wound up a little too tight, you know."

Heyes ran both hands through his dark hair and stood with his hands on his hips glaring at his partner who studiously ignored him. Finally, he sighed and walked over to retrieve his book. "Sorry. I guess I am a little touchy."

"I'll say. What are you working on? Planning a garden?"

"Ha Ha. I'm working on our next job."

"With an almanac?"

"The weather's going to play a part in the next one, Kid. Remember, how quickly the snow covered our trail in the high country? Well, that got me thinking. We've been laying low in the winter, holing up against the snow like everyone else."

"Yeah, we've been doing the sensible thing, so?"

"So no one expects the Devil's Hole gang to start stealing in the dead of winter. It's the perfect time."

"Only if it's snowing hard," said the Kid logically.

"Right!"

"Last I heard, not even you could control the weather, Heyes."

"You're a real riot tonight, partner. I ain't trying to control it; I'm planning to be ready for it. That's a different thing."

"Why would you want to go robbing in the cold, Heyes? We've got plenty of money from that last job, not to mention we took half the loot on the Merchant's Bank job. That was real generous of you to give the boys the other half since you pretty much pulled that one by yourself."

"I'm glad you feel that way, Kid, 'cause I gave our half away."

"What?!" Curry stood so quickly the tack slid off his lap and onto the floor, the awl he had been using clattered to the wood floor.

"I gave it all to Monty. He's going to donate it, anonymously of course, to the first charity that steps up to fund Second Chance Ranch."

"Heyes….tell me you didn't." The Kid groaned and plopped back down on the settee.

"Oh, I did; and I'm giving more soon. That means I need to be planning the next job real fast."

"That's your plan? Start stealing more money than we need just so we can give it away? We pretty much do that anyway every time the boys go hurrahing."

"Look, I told Monty I wanted to help with the ranch, but Allie can't know I am. She'd never take the money. It's a real good cause, and you know as well as I do, it ain't going to be a real popular cause. Other people are kind of funny about scarlet ladies, but they've been awful good to us." Heyes smirked, "Especially good to you."

"You do know, don't you, that we've already got big price tags on our heads. What do you think the law's gonna do, if we start pulling more jobs?"

"They couldn't come after us any harder than they already are. Listen, the Bible tells us to help those less fortunate than us. I reckon this is where I'm going to start and I plan on giving to other worthy causes, too."

"You found God, Heyes?" said the Kid, sarcastically.

"Nope, but the Devil's found me and I'm hoping this'll stop him from getting his claws in me any deeper. Like I said before, it's not going to hurt our popularity with the common folk if we start spreading some of the money around where it can do some good. We won't take credit up front, but a few well-placed whispers and word will get out. Those dime novels make us out to be heroes. Children look up to us and it won't take much for the rest of the public to start seeing us in a different light. You should stop and think of how handy all that goodwill might be if we were to be caught and go to trial. The law'd be hard-pressed to put together a jury. Why, even some of those fine pillars of society might stand up and squawk if they saw their favorite charity's meal ticket about to get hung or sent away for twenty years." A wide, impish grin slipped onto Heyes face.

"Now you're starting to sound like my partner," said the Kid with an answering grin.


	2. Chapter 2

"Here's to the late, great Hannibal Heyes," cheered a drunken Kyle, standing on his bunk and waving a slopping glass of whiskey over his head. An answering roar echoed through the bunkhouse as the other outlaws raised their glasses and drank to their not-quite-so deceased leader.

"Lucky for the Devil that Heyes ain't dead; he couldn't handle the competition," cried Gully, the gang's cook. Another ripple of laughter floated up. The savory roast Gully had prepared had put the gang in a celebratory mood. They had enjoyed the hearty meal and good whiskey their leaders provided and had then begged Heyes for the story of the Merchant's Bank of Denver robbery. Heyes had refused with what seemed like humility, but was really a hesitance to reveal his methods. He was the only man to have ever blown a Pierce and Hamilton Model 78 and he wanted to keep it that way. Even the Kid didn't know exactly how it had been accomplished and the authorities were still trying to figure out who had done it. Their prime suspect, Heyes, had been reported killed in a bar fight in Leadville only a short time before the theft.

Instead, the Kid had humorously relayed the story of Heyes nearly blowing himself up and how he and Allie had rescued his barely conscious partner. This had led to some good nature ribbing of Heyes, who took it well knowing that Curry had cleverly re-directed the outlaws' interest away from the details of the robbery.

Preacher stepped up and nodded to his leaders who were standing together on the other side of the room. "Let's drink to Resurrection Day!" The men lifted their glasses again and hooted their approval.

Seeing an opening, Heyes came forward and yelled for their attention. The noise level died down immediately and all eyes were drawn to the charismatic man in the center of the room. "It's coming soon, Preacher, I'm already working on the next job," said Heyes with a grin. "Things are going to be a little different this winter. Instead of holing up here at the Hole and waiting it out, I'm planning on working through the weather; catching our targets off-guard." He could tell by the suddenly sober expressions on his men's faces that they'd been caught by surprise, too. He heard some grumbling, but plowed on. "Now I know some of you like to go south for the winter and you weren't expecting this. I'm not going to stop those of you who want to go, but I will tell you that I'll make those of you who stay a lot of money. I'm only asking that you make up your minds whether you're staying or going by the day after tomorrow. I plan to work fast and secretly. If you decide to stay, you're here for the winter-no exceptions."

Heyes nodded to his men and went to rejoin his partner who was intently watching the gang's reactions. Some of the men were excited by the news, and some were annoyed; about what Kid Curry had expected. He sighed, knowing that his job as the gang's peacemaker had just gotten harder.

Lobo was frowning at his leader's back, but he caught the Kid eying him and quickly raised his beer, taking a long chug to hide his dismay. He hated the cold and always looked forward to his time in Mexico. Those lovely senoritas held a special attraction for him. They didn't speak English and he didn't speak Spanish, but they all understood each other just fine with no need for making small talk.

He couldn't understand why the gang was going to work through the winter; he had plenty of money to see his way through to next spring; of course, if he had just a little more, he could retire to Mexico permanently. Wouldn't that be something? He wondered what Heyes was up to and, seeing Wheat standing alone and frowning, he sidled over to him. "Did you know about this, Wheat?" he asked.

"Naw." Wheat was staring across the room at his dark-haired leader. It irked him that Heyes hadn't told him what he had planned before he took it to the gang. He was supposed to be next in command behind the Kid, but sometimes Heyes treated him like he was of no importance at all.

"Well, I don't like it. We've worked hard this year and done everything he's asked. It's time for us to go have some fun," grumbled Lobo. "Don't you think so?"

Wheat looked at him blandly, refusing to be drawn out. "Ain't thought about it."

Lobo saw the shutters come down over Wheat's eyes and bristled, knowing that he was refusing the bait. "If you were leader, you wouldn't make us work through the cold, would you?"

"I ain't leader."

"You could've been," said Lobo.

Wheat looked at him warily. He knew this was going somewhere. Lobo was always stirring up trouble.

"When we thought Heyes was dead, we all took a vote on who was gonna be the next leader." The craggy outlaw studied Wheat's face as he spoke, looking for a spark of interest, but the bigger man's face remained neutral. "It was you, Wheat. We chose you. But now that Heyes ain't dead, the boys took it back." Lobo grinned. Personally, he had voted against Wheat, but he saw the words sink in and knew he had the other man's attention now. "'Course, if you was leader, we wouldn't be asked to work through the winter; now would we?"

Wheat gave him a long, measuring look, knowing he was being egged on; but his ego was lapping it up. He wanted to be leader, had never made a secret of it, but the boys acted like it was all a big joke so he never really pushed it. He should have been leader, would've been, if Heyes hadn't shown up years ago and wormed his way into Big Jim Santana's confidence. What did he have that Wheat didn't? Well, besides manipulating the safes and being real good at coming up with plans.

For the first time, Wheat realized that the gang might consider another leader. If he could swing them to his side, there'd be enough men to stand up to both Heyes and the Kid. He liked that idea and it made him bold. Pulling his gun belt up, he adjusted it on his hips and puffed, "Nope, I wouldn't. It ain't right. The boys need some time off."

"You should talk to Heyes about it. You could change his mind, he listens to you." Lobo knew that Heyes didn't listen to anyone but the Kid and not always even him, but he was enjoying pulling Wheat's tail and wanted to see the reaction when Heyes's authority was questioned. He loved a good fight and the evening was starting to wind down. This ought to liven things up some.

"I reckon, I will," growled Wheat, strutting off in his leader's direction.

Heyes was chatting with Gully, patting the shorter, prematurely gray-haired man on his back when the tall outlaw walked up and crowded them. The cook glanced at Wheat and then back to Heyes and beat a hasty retreat to the other side of the room where the remaining gang members' attentions were still focused on the food and drink.

"What's all this about workin' through the winter?" said Wheat angrily and loudly. The Kid was leaning against one of the bunks and straightened up at the surly tone.

The rest of the men heard Wheat and stopped their celebrating to watch the confrontation. Whispered bets were being quickly placed.

"What part of it is confusing you?" said Heyes sarcastically. A total silence fell throughout the bunkhouse and Wheat stiffened. The Kid took a step closer to his partner, his right hand dropping to his side. The other men stepped back, distancing themselves from trouble and from the Kid who had stopped just behind Wheat. They could see the cold look on his face, but the big outlaw was totally unaware he was there.

Lobo smiled slyly; he took a perverse pleasure in setting Wheat up. Served him right for always shooting off his big mouth about how much better he was than Heyes which meant he was so much better than everyone in the gang, including Lobo.

"It ain't right. We've worked hard and it's time to go blow off some steam," snapped Wheat, drawing himself up tall and looking as imposing as he could.

"Nobody's stopping you, Wheat; pack up your things and go," said Heyes, turning away from the bigger man.

Incensed that he would be dismissed so easily, Wheat reached out and grabbed Heyes's arm. Instantly, the Kid's gun barrel pressed its cold muzzle against Wheat's head. Letting go of his dark-haired leader, he turned and looked at the Kid, who slowly shook his head. "I ain't just askin' for me," growled Wheat defensively.

"Well, it ain't none of your business what the other men do; now is it?" said the Kid. "Seems to me, Heyes is being fair enough; you want to go, then go. You want to stay and make some more money, then stay. That's up to you, just like it is for everyone else."

Wheat's color had risen and his face was red. He was aware of the whispering rising up again from the men surrounding them, but no one came forward to back him up. Slowly, the air leaked out of him and he mumbled, "Hell, I was just asking, that's all. What's it to you?"

The Kid stared him down until Wheat looked away. Curry holstered his Colt. "Party's over, boys, let's clean it up and call it a night."

"Nice going, Wheat," yelled Lobo, bringing forth catcalls from the other gang members all directed at the man who'd broke up the fun. Kyle shook his head at his partner and walked away to start clearing away the dishes and the empty bottles. Wheat was left standing in the middle of the room, alone.

OOOOOOOOOO

Early the next day, Heyes was sitting at the table sipping his morning coffee, when a rap sounded on the cabin door. Opening it, he found the Preacher standing outside, his breath solidifying in the cold air. He also saw his man's horse tied to the hitching post out front. It was saddled and packed with gear. Sighing, he stepped aside, "Come on in, coffee's on."

The tall, gangly man stepped into the warm cabin. "Morning."

Heyes nodded and poured a generous mugful of thick brew, handing the cup over, and sitting down. He gestured to the chair across from him. "Have a seat."

Folding his length, the Preacher sat and silently took a sip of coffee.

"You're leaving," stated Heyes flatly. His friend nodded back to him. "I'm sorry to hear it, Preacher. I could've used your help."

"I know, Heyes, but I'm too set in my ways to work year-round. I reckon I'll head south like I always do."

Heyes smiled, "If your mind's made up, I guess I'll see you in the spring."

"No, sir, I'm not sure you will."

Heyes's eyes darkened and his grin melted away. "You're quitting the gang because I asked you to work the winter?"

"Not 'cause of that." The Preacher looked down at his hands. "I'm getting too old for this life, Heyes. I reckon I've had a real good run, but it can't last forever. Sooner or later, my luck's going to turn. It nearly did that one time, and I don't mind saying, it spooked me. If you hadn't of ridden back for me, I'd have been a goner." He raised his eyes and looked fondly at the man in front of him. "I owe you a lot, and I ain't going to forget it. You need me, you can send word down Nagodotches way; I'll come. But if you can do without me, I'd like to try my hand at something else." He put his mug down and stood up holding out his hand.

Heyes rose, too, and the two men shook. "The gang isn't going to the same without you, Preacher."

"You ought to give some thought to getting out of this life, too, Heyes. You and the Kid are too smart to stick around for the law to catch up with you and they will. Times are a changing. It ain't like it used to be. Take care of yourself and the Kid, Heyes, I'll be praying for you both." The tall man stepped out the door, heading for his horse.

A swell of emotion rose in Heyes's throat and robbed him of his words as he watched his friend mount up. As the man turned away, he found his voice and called out, "You do that, Preacher; somebody needs to." He stood for a long time watching the black-coated rider disappear up the trail out of the Hole and before turning to find his partner standing in the doorway behind him, looking fresh out of bed.

"Morning. Was that the Preacher riding out?"

"Yeah, he says he's not coming back."

"Hmm, I wonder how many more men we're going to lose over this." Curry turned away, yawning, and walked over to the stove to pour some coffee. He grabbed Heyes's mug off the table and pulled another out of the cupboard, filling them both.

Heyes followed him. "Don't matter, Kid. I don't need many men for what I want to do. Besides, you know these guys. As soon as their pockets are emptied, they'll be back."

"You're getting awful cynical." Curry handed a mug to his partner.

"Nope; just realistic. The gang's loyalty only goes so far." Heyes sat down at the table.

The Kid nodded agreement, sitting, and took a sip from his mug. "What was up with Wheat last night? Was he crazy challenging you like that in front of the men?"

"I think that's why he did it, Kid. He was hoping the men would back him up."

"I saw Lobo talking to him. I think maybe I'll find out what they were discussing."

"Let it go. I figure this plan of mine is going to weed out a few men."

"Yeah, but will it weed out the right ones?"

OOOOOOOOOO

By the end of the next day, there were only seven gang members left, including Gully who never left the Hole for any job. He had signed on strictly as a cook and refused to take part in the robberies as he still believed he was an essentially honest man. That didn't keep him from taking his share of the loot, though; after all, he had a family to support back in Nebraska. Having a dedicated cook was an extravagance, but it was one of the many perks that made being a member of the Devil's Hole gang desirable. Heyes never underestimated the value of having a hot meal waiting for his men after a hard day's work.

Strangely enough, both Lobo and Wheat had elected to stay for the winter. Lobo couldn't resist the allure of additional income and decided the senoritas could wait. Wheat blustered to the men that he had to stay and keep an eye on Heyes so he didn't screw up the gang, but to his leaders, he offered no excuses. Kyle, Hank, Wall-eyed Sam, and John Garcia all agreed to stay, too.

John, whose real name was Juan, usually stayed through the winters, being wanted for armed robbery in Mexico and having fled north to escape capture. Last year, he and Gully had stayed the long, lonely winter alone in the Hole, playing poker night after cold night, winning and losing the same stolen money over and over again. He was glad to have a few more hands for the game this year and some work to break up the long, cold season.

Sam had ridden in last August and begged for a job. He was an inexperienced thief, but an accomplished blacksmith who was running from his creditors. Heyes had taken him on, sparing his men another task they loathed. Shoeing was incredibly hard on the back and often laid a man up sore if a horse misbehaved. Sam's muscles were toned and he could easily shoe six or eight horses at a time without breaking a sweat. His first week on the job, Heyes had given him rough plans for a bar spreader and Sam had quickly turned out three perfectly-crafted tools thereby securing his position. His right eye had an opaque iris, having been damaged by a flying ember while plying his craft; and the gang had quickly bestowed his nickname on him as a sign of acceptance. He wore it proudly.

Late that night, the depleted gang gathered in the leader's cabin. A keg, left all day under the waterfall to cool, was tapped and beers mugs were passed around. The men sat quietly waiting to learn what would be required of them. Small talk was minimal and died out altogether when Heyes stood up and lifted his mug.

"First, I'd like to say that I appreciate each and every one of you being willing to work the winter. I know it won't be easy on any of us. Secondly, I promise I'll make it worthwhile. To being rich!" Heyes laughed and drank deeply as his men cheered loudly. The Kid smiled at his partner; the man sure knew his gang and what motivated them.

"All right, listen up. Tomorrow we start laying the ground work for the first job. Kyle, you and Wheat are going to take Wall-eyed and John over to that new coal mine by the Powder River. We need five cases of dynamite to get us through the winter and they should have plenty. Only take the five cases, no more, no less. Security ought to be lax there, since the price of coal has dropped and they've slowed their operation. Be careful, though, I don't want anyone getting onto you. The last thing you need is to get chased by a posse while juggling a load of explosives. Take all the time you need, just do it cleanly. We ain't in a hurry yet.

Lobo, you and Gully are going to move the old dynamite shack. I want it far enough up the valley that there won't be any problems if it blows. There's some new lumber out behind the barn; if you need to, shore it up." Heyes nodded to his partner, who pulled a stout, brass lock from his pocket and handed it over, putting it into Heyes's out-stretched hand. He tossed it to Lobo. "Put this on the door when it's finished. I want it locked at all times. The Kid and I will keep hold of the keys."

"Who are we robbing, Heyes?" said Hank, asking the question everyone wanted to ask.

"Everyone."


	3. Chapter 3

"Everyone? What do you mean by everyone?" challenged Wheat. He was still smarting from Heyes's dismissive attitude and feeling ornery.

Heyes ignored Wheat's tone. It was a fair question and one he'd been expecting, actually hoping for. "Businesses don't stop just because it turns cold and starts snowing. Money still has to be moved and there are far fewer choices on how to move it and when. Once the passes fill with snow, the roads are useless and only the trains will be getting through. The trains run on a specific schedule so the big businesses, the ones with corporate headquarters, like the mines and such; will have to rely on the banks to hold onto the money until they can have it transferred by train to their main offices."

Wheat sneered at his leader, stood up, and looked at the men. "Don't you think once they start gettin' robbed, the trains are just gonna put more guards on? If there ain't that many trains, they won't need that many guards." He had the gang's attention now; let's see Heyes answer that one.

"Leave the thinking to Kid and me, Wheat. You completely missed the point; there'll be more money sitting in the banks waiting for shipment and waiting for us to come along and take it. We'll hit some trains, too, but it's the banks that we'll concentrate on. No one wants to wade through the snow trying to run down a moving target. We'll hit the trains when the weather's on our side."

Wheat looked at his leader blankly for a second and then looked away, mumbling, "I knew that, I was just sayin' it ain't gonna be as easy as you make it sound, that's all."

"No, it ain't going to be easy, but _**it will**_ be worth it. Just sit down and hear Heyes out," said the Kid with a weary tone. The big outlaw sat down meekly, accepting the poke in the ribs Lobo gave him. He was quiet for the rest of the evening.

0000000000

Lucifer yawned and stretched, nearly upending the glass of whiskey Heyes held in his hand. He stroked the soft fur and rubbed the cat's chin as he rocked quietly in his chair by the fire. The men had left hours ago to play a little poker and he'd been trying to unwind by reading. He had passed on the gang's invitation to play, knowing there would be plenty of time for poker later when the men had enough cash to lose graciously.

The cabin door opened and the Kid walked in, grinning from ear to ear.

"Good game?" asked Heyes. He could see the slight bulge in Curry's shirt pocket.

"Yep."

"You didn't win too much, did you?"

"Nope, just enough that they'll want a chance to win it back." Curry patted his pocket, sat down on the settee, and put his feet up on the battered old trunk that served as the cabin's coffee table. The trunk was where Heyes stored his maps, notes, and various scraps of paper containing information he found interesting or possibly useful for future projects. A large padlock kept it secure from prying eyes.

"Good. They'll have plenty of time to try."

"Heyes, are you sure about this?"

"About what?"

"You know, stepping up the thieving and all."

"Why do you ask? Were the men complaining about it?" Heyes put down his drink and studied his partner. The gang had to be behind him for this to work. Disgruntled men had loose lips and that was something he couldn't afford.

"No, no complaints. I just keep wondering if you'd given any thoughts to what's going to happen after we rob this territory blind."

Heyes laughed, "We've already robbed it blind, Kid, that's why we've got the big bounties on us."

"I'm serious. How much more do you think they can raise that reward money before our own men decide to turn us in and save themselves the risks of robbing?"

"Look, if the gang was going to do that they would've done it already. Our men can't hold onto a plugged nickel. You know that and so do they. They don't need a big score; they need steady money coming in. Besides, these boys'll have enough money come spring to quit outlawing if they want to and the rest of the gang will be back here, broke, and looking for more. Plus, there's no shortage of men wanting to join us if we need more bodies. You know that, too. What's this really about?" asked Heyes.

"Are you sure you aren't getting a little greedy? We already steal plenty and I can't help asking when is it going to be enough for you?"

Heyes stared into the fire and began absently rubbing Luce while considering the Kid's words. He didn't answer for a while and his partner started thinking that he wasn't going to. Heyes eventually looked up and spoke, "It was enough for me a long time ago. I'm just going through the motions till the law catches up with me."

"I thought you were past this kind of talk. You're still moping over parting with Allie, ain't you?"

Heyes smiled and sidestepped the question. "I'm talking this way because I've faced facts and you should, too. Preacher's right; the times are changing and the law's getting smarter. They'll catch us sooner or later, partner, and since our good friends at the railroad added that dead or alive language, I doubt they'll be too picky about how they do it."

"What about turning ourselves in, Heyes? We can do that. They ain't gonna hang us if we turn ourselves in. The law might even look favorably on us giving it up since they think you're dead."

Heyes hadn't missed how the conversation had changed to being about us. He smiled at his loyal friend. "No. Prison's the last thing I want for us. Don't forget, too, I'd have a lot explaining to do about the poor guy who really did die. The law would probably choose to think I set him up. Besides, what else can we do?"

Curry stared at his partner, who stared back. There was nothing to say to that and they both knew it. Despite his misgivings, the Kid had to laugh at his partner's logic. "All right, let's stick to what we do best. What's the rest of your plan?"

The two men talked until late into the night.

OOOOOOOOOO

Winter hit the Devil's Hole country hard over the next few weeks. The snow began to pile up in small drifts along the north side of the barn and failed to melt away during the sunnier days. The men were put to work during the bad weather repairing tack and seeing that their horses were kept fit. Heyes started having the men work their animals after every snowfall, ensuring that the horses' muscles were toned and their lungs strengthened for the addition burden of wading through the snow. He had Wall-eye re-shoe the gang's mounts with new shoes holding well-oiled heavy leather pads in place to cover the soles of the hooves. He hoped that this would prevent the snow from building up in the ball of the hoof as it was inclined to do inside of the thick metal shoes. Heyes had seen something similar once in Truckee, California, while on his way to Silky's home in San Francisco. Truckee was a railroad town and the last link to civilization before the tracks wound their way up and over the Sierras; over the same summit where the Donner party had been stranded by the massive snows in the winter of 1846. Nearly half of the settlers had died from hunger and disease, while many of the survivors resorted to cannibalism to avoid starvation.

After five years of construction, in 1868, Central Pacific Railroad completed tracks over the summit. Snow sheds were built along the summit route to protect the rails from avalanche damage, but it was up to the linemen who lived in Truckee to keep the rest of the tracks clear so that the link between the eastern Sierras and California remained unbroken throughout the long winters. Mule trains were used by the railroaders to carry ties and spikes for repairs and to carry the men themselves up to clear the tracks after a major snowstorm. Unfortunately, more snow falls over that particular summit than anywhere else in the continental United States. Through desperation, the linemen had come up with a method of tying wide, wooden platforms to the mules' hooves as a sort of equine snowshoe; this allowed the animals to labor through the snow without sinking up past their bellies. It worked remarkably well. Heyes had been impressed by the design and stored the memory away for future consideration knowing it might prove useful.

The gang's horses had to be able move fast, if necessary, so a platform shoe was out of the question. However, Heyes could control when and where they pulled their jobs, so he could avoid the excessively deep snow that bogged down the Truckee mule trains. He simply needed to make sure that the snow didn't build up in the horses' feet which could lame an animal quickly. The pads could be shaped to each individual horse's foot and the oil in the leather would do a fine job of repelling what little snow might cling to the small lip of the metal shoes that would hold them in place. As the leather dried, it could easily be re-oiled from the barrel of tallow stored in the Hole.

A few days before the end of November, Heyes gathered the men together again. It was a windy, cold day when, one by one, the men entered the bunkhouse and clustered about the fireplace, warming their hands and feet near the flames.

"Damn, it's cold and winter's only getting started. I hate the cold," moaned Lobo. The other murmured their agreement. The idea of staying the winter hadn't sounded so bad a short time ago, but now that it was here, it wasn't looking quite so appealing.

Heyes pulled out nine mugs from the cupboard and filled them with hot coffee. A dollop of whiskey was added to each drink. Gully was the last to arrive and he carried a steaming pot of stew from the cookhouse stove. Several loaves of fresh-baked bread were poking up out of his coat pockets. The Kid took the pot and set it on the woodstove to stay warm while Gully went to join the others. Drinks were passed around and the men looked at Heyes expectantly. He lifted his mug. "The day after tomorrow is Thanksgiving and we've got a lot to be thankful for. Let's take the next couple of days off and enjoy ourselves."

"Yeah! We been working so hard, I plumb forgot 'bout the holiday. It's Turkey Day, my favorite," cheered Kyle. Everyone smiled at his enthusiasm.

The Kid spoke up, "It won't be Turkey Day until we get us a bird, boys. Tomorrow, we're having a contest to see what team will get the biggest turkey. Heyes is putting up a couple of bottles of that fine whiskey of his; the stuff that came all the way from Scotland and I'm tossing in two boxes of Cuban cigars."

Wider smiles appeared. "All the way from Scotland, England?" asked Kyle. Heyes choked slightly on his sip of coffee and grinned at his partner.

The Kid decided to ignore Kyle's geographical error. "We'll team up in groups of two. Gully's already agreed to stay here and get the rest of the food prepped. As a consolation prize, he gets his own bottle which I don't reckon any of you will complain about since you'll be filling your bellies on his hard work," he added warningly. "Contest starts at sunup and ends at sundown tomorrow. Gully decides which turkey is biggest. Wheat and Kyle, you'll be one team; Sam and John, you two will team up, and Hank and Lobo, I reckon you can avoid shooting each other. "

Hank laughed at the Kid's comment, but Lobo was offended by his leader's gentle jest. He stood up, "Won't be much of a contest if you and Heyes team up. You're the best shot here, Kid." The other men nodded their agreement to this terse statement.

"Heyes and me will be hunting for the fun of it, but we won't be shooting at turkeys. You have our word; we'll be going after other game. Matter of fact, we're going to ride out tomorrow and leave the Hole to you boys to hunt."

"I reckon we can sweeten this up a bit. I've got fifty dollars here that says that Lobo and me get the biggest bird," said Hank, holding up his cash.

"Like Hell, me and Kyle'll get the biggest tom and I got another fifty to prove it." Wheat started digging into his pockets.

"We got a hundred that says we'll bring home the best," hollered Wall-eyed. He had confidence in his partner's ability, if not his own.

A happy argument ensued as voices were raised along with the bets. Heyes looked at the Kid and gestured with a nod at the door. The two partners left the bunkhouse and walked back to the cabin through the cold, clear night. The wind had died down after sunset and the stars shone brightly over their heads. Orion, the Hunter, was rising to the east as though anxious to join the festivities.

"I'm looking forward to a little hunting of my own. How 'bout you?" asked Heyes with a wide grin.

"I got a hundred that says I find my bird before you find yours."

"Do I look like a patsy, Kid? That's a sucker bet if I ever heard one."

OOOOOOOOOO

"You owe me a hundred, partner," laughed the Kid as he stood up from the poker table, stuffed his winnings into his pocket, and slipped his arm around the buxom Sadie. She leaned her brunette head against his shoulder and wound her arms around him possessively, staking her claim for the night.

A tall, blonde leaned over Heyes as he sat at the poker table. She rubbed up against his back and purred into his ears, "Ain't you won enough yet, darlin'? Let's go have us some fun."

For a brief moment, Heyes hesitated, and then he tossed down his cards, "Deal me out. The pretty lady's right, I've won enough and I want to get out while I can still be lucky at love." The other players laughed and Heyes picked up his money, handing a large bill to his partner. "Here, I don't remember taking that bet, Mert, but I never squelch on a deal."

The Kid winced slightly at the ridiculous alias his cousin had saddled him with, Mert Fleegle, but took the cash. "Believe me, Cletus, you owe me all right."

Heyes laughed loudly and pulled the blonde closer, "Now, what was your name, sweetheart?"

She pushed at him gently with both her hands. "Silly, I'm Norma, but you can call me whatever you like." Heyes kissed her soundly, bending her slightly backwards. She reached up and grabbed her hair as it started to come undone; that wasn't all that was coming loose and she straightened up, breathless, when he released her. It took her a minute to remember she was working today. Laughing delightedly, she took his hand and led him to the bar, looking over her shoulder at the Kid and Sadie. "C'mon you two, let's have a couple more drinks before we go upstairs." Turning back she saw Dirk, the bartender, nod at her and set up four drinks on the wooden bar top. He had a hard and fast rule the girls had to follow: no taking the cowboys upstairs until they'd run up at least a ten dollar tab. He also kept a sawed-off shotgun under the bar for those men who didn't take to alcohol well. It was a satisfactory agreement for all. The cowboys had fun, the bar made money, and the ladies knew who was safe to go upstairs with and who was not. Norma smiled at her dark-haired cowboy, pleased she hadn't traded shifts with Ellie after all.

Since the Kid had won the bet, Heyes would keep watch first and slack off on his drinking. It wouldn't do to get sloppy without the gang around to back them up. He bought several drinks, but begged off on actually drinking his share by saying it affected his stomach something awful and he didn't want to spoil the fun. To appease the bartender, he bought a round for the entire crowd.

When his partner went upstairs, Heyes sent Norma off to fetch a couple of steaks for lunch. He would treat her to a fine meal and buy some time. When his cousin returned, the Kid ought to be sober enough to keep watch while Heyes and Norma had some fun. Heyes was looking forward to it; it had been a long time; too long. He felt a brief flicker of guilt at his anticipation, but quickly shrugged it off. He was a free man. That thought bothered him, too, so he distracted his mind by standing with his back to the bar and watching the poker tables. After a few minutes, a large man slowly sidled his way down the long oak rail and stopped next to Heyes who had been aware of someone creeping nearer. He looked over at the man coldly only to be shocked to see a familiar pair of gray eyes looking back at him.

"Hello, son," said Monty Northrup, holding out a meaty hand for Heyes to shake.

"Monty! What are you doing here?" said Heyes seizing the hand and slapping the bigger man on his back.

"I bought a stallion from a ranch north of here and just picked him up. Thought I'd stop and have one for the road. The real question is what are you doing here?" asked Monty, leaning closer to Heyes and whispering, "What the hell do I call you?"

Heyes grinned, "Cletus, Cletus Crompton, I'm here blowing off a little steam with my partner."

"Steam, huh? I take it that partner of yours is upstairs with a pretty lady."

"Yes sir, he is."

"And your turn's next?" asked Monty neutrally. Heyes blushed and the Texan laughed out loud. "Heck, I never thought I'd see the day I could fluster you! I ain't judging you….Cletus. A man's got his needs and you ended things with Miss Allie a while ago."

Heyes looked searchingly into Monty's eyes. "How is she?"

"Allie? She's just fine. She and Ruthie have been working up a storm getting the place ready for those needy gals; first few are supposed to arrive any day now. You should see the ranch, you wouldn't recognize it. It's all spiffed up." Heyes looked down at his drink, sad to think he would probably never see the ranch again. Monty didn't notice and went on, "Esther's been in San Francisco packing up her things and meeting with some big shot charities about helping out the ranch. I don't have any names for you yet, but I should soon. You still want me to send them to Soapy?"

"Yes; he'll see that I get them." Heyes lifted his beer and drank deeply. "Is she moving on okay? Is she seeing anyone yet?"

Monty eyed Heyes carefully, but the younger man's poker face was in place. He knew it wasn't a casual question and he wasn't about to answer it. There was no need for Heyes to know that Scott Medgar had been trying his best to spark Miss Allie. She wasn't having any of it, but that could change. He also knew how much this man cared for her and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt him. "Heck, that little gal's running her tail off from morning until night. The only time she's not working is when she's riding that mare you gave her. She sure is a fancy little thing, all flash and fire."

Heyes laughed, wondering if Monty meant Allie or Fannie. It didn't matter; the description fit both of them. "This stallion you bought; is he the one you'll breed Fannie to?"

"He is. Would you like to see him? He's down by the stockyards. Why don't you and your partner meet me there when you've finished up here? It'd be nice to see what's-his-name, too."

Heyes smiled and nodded. "Old Mert would be glad to see you, too. We'll come by on our way out of town."

Monty pushed himself away from the bar and walked out as Norma walked in, juggling two plates of food. She saw Heyes looking at her and smiled. Her appetite just picked up, and she was hungry, too.

OOOOOOOOOO

"I got the train schedule," said the Kid, patting his pocket as he stopped in front of his partner, who was sitting on the hotel's porch. "How'd you do?"

"Just fine. Cletus Crompton is now the proud holder of an account at the Poudre Valley Bank. I got a tour and a good look at the poor old safe the bank's using. You won't believe it when you see it, Kid," grinned Heyes. "C'mon, I'll tell you later on the way out of town. It's nearly noon, Monty will be waiting for us." He stood up and led the way down the steps and across the street.

The Kid followed along behind him. He wasn't too happy at this turn of events. While he liked Monty just fine and mostly trusted him, he just didn't care for being surprised by someone who knew them; not when they were setting up a job. It was risky enough for him and Heyes to show their faces; it was much worse to have someone recognize them and draw attention to them. Monty was a very big man and one who stood out in any crowd. He wanted to get this over with soon.

The stockyards were nearly empty except for the pens closest to the train tracks. Heyes picked up his pace as he spotted a handsome bay stallion strutting back and forth along the short fence line of one of the pens. The horse stopped at the corner and whinnied loudly, shook his head, and turned on his haunches heading in the opposite direction, snorting as he went. The animal's winter coat still held a nice shine to it, highlighting muscles that rippled smoothly. Heyes stepped up onto the fence and whistled appreciatively. "Fannie's going to love him!"

The Kid caught up to him and leaned on the top rail, lifting one foot to rest on the bottom rail. "He sure is good looking." He knew his partner missed the flashy chestnut mare he'd painstakingly trained for years. It had been a huge indicator of the affection Heyes had for Allie Golden that he would give her the mare. Curry caught himself smiling in response to the happy smile on his cousin's face.

"Look at that top line, Kid. This boy's got plenty of power." Beyond the pen, Heyes saw Monty coming towards them. He waved.

"Mert, good to see you again," laughed Monty loudly, reaching out to grab the Kid's offered hand. Curry looked about them and, seeing no one watching them, he relaxed and smiled.

"Nice to see you, too, Monty. How's Ruth?"

"She's good, son. I made an honest woman of her last week and it's the best thing I ever did."

Heyes swiveled his head, "You got married already? I thought you two were planning something in the spring."

"Hell, we're both too old to wait 'til then. Didn't want to forget what's what."

Both outlaws smiled and congratulated the older man, before they all returned their attention to the stallion.

"Ain't he something? I tell you he and your mare are going to throw some fine foals," said Monty.

"They will," said Heyes, and the thought struck him that he would probably never get to see them. His day suddenly darker, he stepped off the fence and turned away from the stallion. "We'd better get going, Mert. It's a long ride home. Monty, good to see you again." He walked away quickly, leaving Monty and the Kid looking at each other in surprise.

"Sorry, Heyes is still having a hard time," said the Kid.

"I can see that. Allie is too. She misses him something fierce; misses both of you. I wish I could tell her I saw you both, but I think it's best to leave sleeping dogs lie. Take good care of him and yourself…Mert." Monty shook Curry's hand again and the two men parted company.

OOOOOOOOOO

The ride back to the Hole was a quiet one. The Kid led the way, letting Heyes have some time alone with his thoughts. They arrived back shortly before nightfall. A light was burning in the bunkhouse and loud voices could be heard floating across the yard.

"Geez, can't those knuckleheads do anything without bickering?" grumbled Heyes.

"I reckon Gully's picking his winner," said the Kid.

"The contest. I forgot all about it. We better go see who won." Heyes pulled up outside of the bunkhouse and tied his horse off on the hitching rail out front. His partner swung to the ground, too, tying off his gelding as well.

"Hold on, partner. I'm gonna give you a chance to win some of that hundred back. I've got fifty dollars that says that Sam and John got the biggest bird."

Heyes snorted, "They only got three good eyes between the two of 'em. My money's on Kyle and Wheat." Laughing, he followed his cousin into the bunkhouse. The scene that greeted them was chaotic, seven men stood around the table which was piled high with turkey carcasses. Gully stood in the middle, hoisting a large bird in the air.

"This here turkey's the winner!" yelled the cook.

"That's our bird," yelled Sam, but an instant later Kyle hollered, "No, it's not, Wheat and me killed that one."

"Looks like ours to me," snarled Lobo. Fists were raised and clenched as the men squared off. Wheat went for Lobo first; he was still sore about being needled. Kyle grabbed a turkey off the table and swung it at Hank, who ducked. The bird hit John in the face. He leapt at the small outlaw. Gully looked around at the men, dropped the bird he was holding, and started to bolt from the room. He was not a fighting man. He was almost to the back door when a shot rang out.

"That's enough!" bellowed Heyes. The Kid stood at his shoulder, his gun smoking from the shot he'd aimed out the front door.

The rest of the men stopped where they stood, dropping their fists, and stared at their leaders warily.

"This was supposed to be fun; not a reason for a brawl. Can't I leave you all alone for five minutes? Kyle, pick up that bird and go wash it off. Gully, get back in here. Wheat, you and Lobo pick up those chairs. I'm going to go put my horse away and when I get back you better have this place cleaned up." Heyes turned on his heel and walked out. The Kid holstered his gun and looked at his men.

"What's wrong with him?" grumbled Wheat.

"Wheat….so help me. Just shut up and get to work," said the Kid, turning away from the men and walking out as well.

He found Heyes in his horse's stall, pulling the saddle off. Walking his own gelding into the next stall, the Kid pulled off the bridle and draped it on a hook outside the door. He un-cinched his horse and pulled the saddle without looking at his partner. As he walked to the tack room, he could hear Heyes throwing around his tack, tossing brushes into a bucket, and cursing softly. He took his time, waiting for his partner's temper to cool. When it grew quiet, he waited some more.

"Is it just me or are you as sick of this as I am?" asked Heyes.

The Kid walked over and leaned on the stall door, "It ain't just you, Heyes."

"Good. I was starting to worry."

"It's like running drag on a herd of first-graders," said Curry.

"I think that's a pretty generous statement," smirked Heyes, ruefully.

The Kid grinned at his partner, glad to see his humor returning, "You'd think Wheat would learn better than to try to slip you up."

Heyes picked up a brush from the bucket and started rubbing down his horse. "He ain't going to learn, none of them are."

"Yeah, I suppose not. I get tired of it, too, Heyes, and it's only getting worse. Lobo's becoming a problem, too."

"I've noticed."

"Kyle said he's been egging Wheat on about challenging you."

Heyes looked up sharply, "Why?"

The Kid shook his head, "Probably just for the fun of it; you know Lobo. But it seems that the boys voted Wheat the new leader when they thought you were dead. Lobo made sure that Wheat knew it, and now he's thinking he's got a shot."

"They replaced me with Wheat?!" Heyes was dumbfounded and stopped brushing his horse, turning around to stare at his cousin.

"Well, the pickins' were slim, partner."

"Still, they chose Wheat? Why not the Preacher or you?"

"They'd know better than to ask me and he probably didn't want it. From what you said, he's been thinking about retiring for a while."

Heyes began brushing again. "Wheat's getting a little too uppity and I'm about to lose patience with him."

"I know. We can't afford to lose him, though. He does a good job of keeping the boys working and he knows it. You know what worries me, Heyes? One of these days, I'm going to have to do more than warn him. I ain't looking forward to that at all."

"You aren't calling him out, Kid. Wheat's my problem and I'll handle it my way."

"All right, he's all yours," Curry sighed and leaned down onto his hands which were folded across the top of the half-door of the stall. "Retirement. I sure do envy the Preacher. Wouldn't it be something if we could retire? I've been giving it a lot of thought, Heyes, and I'm tired of outlawing, too. I wish we could come up with something else to do."

Heyes patted his horse and stepped out of the stall. He walked over and picked up a flake of hay, walking back and tossing it to his gelding. "If you find something, let me know."

OOOOOOOOOO

In the end, the contest was declared a draw since no one could agree on whose turkey was whose. Heyes put up another bottle of his precious whiskey, cigars were passed around to everybody and each team was satisfied with their prize. Gully's Thanksgiving dinner was a fine feast and the gang thoroughly enjoyed the meal.

After dessert, Heyes stood up from the table and clanged a knife on his tin mug to get his men's attention. "Fun's over, boys, and it's time to get to work. I've got the first job planned and we're hitting the Poudre Valley Bank in Fort Collins next month."

"Next month? But, Heyes, it's Christmas next month," complained Kyle.

"That's right, but we ain't robbing no one on Christmas; wouldn't be right," said the Kid.

"Good. My mama wouldn't hold with me stealin' on Christmas." Kyle sat back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"That's why we're going to hit them New Year's Day," said Heyes.

"New Year's Day? We'll all be hung over," whined Hank.

"No, you won't. You can celebrate after the job," said Heyes firmly. "Think about it. Every able-bodied man in town will probably be nursing a hangover. Even if they aren't, no one will be expecting a bank job on New Year's Day."

"Why that bank? They just opened it last year. Ain't it going to have one of those new-fangled safes?" asked Lobo.

"Well, it seems that the Board of Directors spent just a little too much on the building; putting in reinforced walls and such. By the time they got around to installing the safe, they had to buy a used one. Saw it myself," said Heyes laughing out loud. The Kid joined him, obviously in on the joke, but no one else had any idea what was so funny.

Wheat bristled with irritation. "You gonna let the rest of us in on the joke?"

The Kid and Heyes glanced at it each other, sobering up. The dark-haired leader stepped up next to his lieutenant and put his arm around his shoulder, "It just so happens, Wheat, that the safe, the one that the brand, spanking new Poudre Valley Bank installed, is the same one I opened last year at the Wells Fargo branch in Laramie. I've already got the combination."

Wheat and the rest of the boys stared at him, dumbfounded. The Kid and Heyes started laughing again at their expressions until finally everyone in the room joined in.


	4. Chapter 4

The frequent snowstorms that had been rolling through the Rockies abated just in time for the gang's New Year's Day job. They started out for Fort Collins on a clear, cold morning and they made pretty good time until they dropped down in altitude and began encountering occasional pockets of slippery mud under the snow. The leather pads on the horses had worked well in the deeper precipitation, but when they hit the slick ground, the animals had difficulty finding traction with the oily pads on their shoes.

John's horse had slipped and gone down a short time ago. His rider was now covered from head to toe with mud. Luckily, he hadn't been hurt nor had the gooey layer penetrated his winter coat, but John had stood up and yelled Spanish curses at the animal until it struggled to its feet, snorting. The verbal abuse had done nothing to improve his mood, but it had raised a few laughs from the rest of the gang.

Heyes rode on ahead a small distance so he wasn't distracted by the men's griping about the mud; he was reviewing his plans for the robbery. The Kid stayed just far enough ahead of the gang so that he could keep an eye on his partner and still be within earshot of the men without them realizing it. He wanted to hear what Wheat was saying to the others. He might be willing to let Heyes handle the problem, but he wasn't about to turn a blind eye to it. Curry could hear the men complaining, causing his eyes to roll frequently.

"Geez, how the hell are we gonna get away from a posse with these damn shoes on our horses?" grumbled Wheat.

"Maybe we can slide down the hills faster than the law can," suggested Kyle.

Wheat looked at him and frowned, "We just rode _**down **_out of the mountains, that means it's gonna be mostly uphill on the way back to the Hole, you moron."

Kyle frowned back, "I was just kiddin' around, Wheat, you don't need to get all proddy about it. What the hell's happened to your sense of humor?" He spit a gob of his chaw at a bank of snow, watching it as it splattered wildly. Hank's horse, behind him, spooked at the sound and side-stepped away, waking his rider who was beginning to nod off. He blinked sleepily, looked around, and relaxed into the his saddle.

"Heyes has a plan. He didn't ask me to shoe these critters this way for the fun of it." Wall-eyed had been proud of how well the shoes had worked in the deeper snow and was annoyed that his fellow gang members had already forgotten their pleasure at being able to move through the heavy snow without having to jump off their mounts every few minutes and clear it from their horseshoes. They were acting like a bunch of fickle girls. He opened his mouth to tell them so when the wheels of the wagon he was driving skidded sideways and he had to wrestle with the reins. The six large crates piled up in the bed rattled and creaked loudly while he struggled to stay on course. The horse was tired after hauling the wagon through the heavier snow and was ready to be done for the day. It swished its tail resentfully. "Easy, boy, we ain't in no hurry today, you just take your sweet time," soothed Wall-eyed. The animal settled down and plodded along the path that had been packed down by the seven riders in front of it.

"Maybe he's planning on some of us getting caught," said Lobo, riding just ahead of the wagon. Four pairs of eyes swung around to stare at him. He shrugged. "Well, it'd make sense if we split up. The posse would get some of us right quick and maybe give up on the rest. No one's gonna have it easy riding around in this muck."

The Kid pulled his horse up quickly and turned in his saddle. That was all he needed; the boys getting spooked about being caught right before a job. "Shut up, all of you! Nobody's getting caught on purpose, but if you keep on talking this way; I can promise you, if you _**do**_ get caught, I ain't coming back for you."

The louder talk subsided once the men realized the Kid could hear them, but a low grumbling took its place and continued for the rest of the ride. Heyes wanted to get close enough to Fort Collins that they could ride the remaining distance easily under the cover of darkness the following night. Tomorrow, during the day, they would rest up and work out the last remaining details of the job.

OOOOOOOOOO

The next morning, the Kid awoke early to find his partner already up and sitting in front of the small fire he had built the night before. He saw the steam floating from the spout of the coffee pot set in the embers and rolled over onto his back to stretch. "Morning, Heyes."

Heyes turned and smiled, but held a finger up to his mouth and gestured for the Kid to join him without waking the others. The Kid got up quietly and sat down next to his cousin, who handed him a mug of coffee. He took a small sip, grimaced, and blew on it.

"Morning; I just wanted a few more minutes to think things over without the boys," whispered Heyes. He looked back down at the notebook he held open on his crossed legs and began to read again.

Curry took another tentative sip of the hot brew. Better. He looked out at the meadow they'd camped next to. The frost was heavy on the grass, but the sun was peeking up over the horizon and rising into a cloudless sky. It was going to be another clear day. They were still a half day's ride from Fort Collins and there was no hurry to get there. It was more important that they weren't seen coming in so they planned to start out after dark. Heyes wanted to hit the bank in the small hours of New Year's Day, after the celebrating had passed its peak and the sober citizens had gone to bed. He was planning to ride in just before the job; then leave quickly. He had sat up late last night outlining the rest of the plan for the gang. He knew his men well, and never took the risk of putting out too much information to them too early during a job. Loose lips had been known to ruin a plan and he had serious doubt about the ability of some of his men to retain their instructions. The men had had a lot of questions; the foremost being, what were the crates for? He was pleased that they had liked what they heard and it had put an end to their grousing. Instead of voicing objections, an avaricious gleam had sprung to each and every one of their eyes.

"Are we ready?" asked the Kid, deciding he'd been quiet long enough for Heyes to be able to think things through.

"_**We're**_ ready. I don't know about them," said Heyes, gesturing over his shoulder towards his sleeping men.

The Kid knew what he meant. He'd been all set to bust a few heads last night after spending the entire ride listening to his men complaining and wondering why he chose to live his life this way. Even riding drag on a herd of longhorn was starting to look better to him than babysitting this gang of surly outlaws. He fancied himself a relatively even-tempered man, one who was not easily provoked, but listening to that bunch would drive a saint to murder and he was no saint. "I'll make sure they're ready; you just make sure we've got a plan that'll work."

"Do you still have that train schedule? Let me take one last look at it." Heyes held out his hand while the Kid fished around inside his coat.

"Hold on a sec, will you?" He found the schedule and pulled it out to give to his partner. "If this works like you say it will, we're gonna go down in history for this job."

"It'll work."

OOOOOOOOOO

Six horses and riders rode into the outskirts of Fort Collins just past one in the morning and split up into groups of two for the rest of the ride. A couple of men arriving late at night aroused much less suspicion than a group of six. Each team of two had a separate assignment all leading to one, common goal—the first-ever robbery of the new Poudre Valley Bank. The other two outlaws, Wall-eyed and John, had been sent into town earlier that day to unload the crates and complete the special task that Heyes had entrusted to them since neither of them were known to the local law; John being wanted under another name in Mexico. They were now standing outside a saloon just down the street from the bank, each with a beer in hand, sipping ever so slowly, and laughing it up with some of the drunken locals who were hanging out on the street. One of the men kept periodically shooting off his gun to ring in the New Year.

The sheriff and his deputies were being kept busy by the rowdy cowboys partying around town. The sheriff had only stopped by once the whole evening before hurrying away to the next trouble spot. He paid no notice to John and Wall-eyed who standing near their new-found friends and simply waiting around until after the robbery. They had finished their main task hours ago.

OOOOOOOOOO

Heyes crept up to the window of the bank with a bar spreader and put it in place. He spread the bars as his partner kept watch in the darkened alleyway. From where he stood, the Kid could see Lobo and Hank at their respective posts on either end of the alley. So far, so good. He heard his partner quietly remove the spreader, but he kept his focus where it needed to be.

Curry felt a light tap on his shoulder and turned slightly to see Heyes easing up onto the sill and slipping inside the window. The Kid looked back towards his other men and then leaned against the brick building. Heyes didn't need him inside, especially not if he already had the combination. The man kept everything; like a packrat. His partner made notes after every job they pulled to help avoid repeating mistakes and to save information that might be useful for future projects. The combination to this safe and its serial number had been carefully recorded in a small journal along with the amount of time it had taken to open it which had been remarkably short. Of course, it was possible that the combination might have been changed and Heyes would have to manipulate it again. Changing it would've been the prudent thing for the bank manager to do, but stranger things had been known to happen and, since the safe had been sold to a different bank and taken to a new city, there was a possibility that it hadn't been. Sure enough, less than five minutes had passed when Heyes slipped back out the window holding two heavy sacks and wearing a huge grin. He dropped to the ground silently and the two men smiled at each other. Heyes handed a bag to the Kid and they split up, Curry hurrying towards where Hank sat mounted and holding the Kid's horse. Heyes went in the opposite direction towards Lobo, who was also mounted and hanging onto Heyes's gelding.

Lobo led the way out of his end of the alley and Heyes ambled quietly behind him. It appeared to onlookers that both were drunk and swaying in their saddles and, since most of the men in the street were in exactly the same condition, they drew no unusual attention. John watched as they passed by him and then signaled to Wheat up the street by lighting a cigarette. Tossing the match to the ground, he and Wall-eyed slipped away quickly from small crowd in front of the saloon. Wheat, in turn, signaled to Kyle one street over to the east and the small outlaw hurried to his assigned task. Quickly, he lifted and dropped the plunger on a detonator he had wired up and blew to pieces a small, empty building off the alley. He took off running and yelling at the top of his lungs that the Assayer's Office was being robbed.

Three minutes later, the gang had joined up again near the train station and now eased out of the shadows, watching for prying eyes. When the cry had gone up that the Assayer's Office was being robbed, the few workers who were on duty at the station this New Year's had left their positions, drawn to the excitement that had followed the explosion. There was only the lone light of an expressman's lantern glowing further down the tracks on the other side of the long train that waited at the loading platform. The mounted outlaws gathered in front of an open boxcar as John Garcia jumped down from inside and pulled down a loading chute; waving them forward.

The expressman was giving the train one last look before it left for its early morning run to Laramie. It was his job to inspect the cars and make sure they were properly loaded. This was a big train, nearly fifty cars, and it was primarily used to haul coal out of the new mines along the Powder River. It ran five nights a week, loaded with the valuable fuel. On its return trip to Laramie, the railroad management struggled to fill its empty cars with whatever cargo it could find. Most of the cars the man swung open the doors to check were un-ladened and quickly closed again. He liked working the late night shifts; it was only the freight trains that ran at this hour and that was fine by him. He'd spent his first few years with the railroad working the commuter runs out of Denver and, if he never saw another demanding passenger, it would be all right with him.

Heyes estimated that he had about eleven minutes left before the railroad man drew near enough to see them. Wall-eyed kept watch as Wheat rode his horse up and into the car, followed by Kyle, Hank, and Lobo, with the Kid and Heyes bringing up the rear. Once inside, the horses were swiftly dismounted and tied to rings set into the wall of the car for securing its cargo. The tack was pulled and stowed inside the empty crates stacked and tied along the short side of the car. Each outlaw climbed inside a box with his gear and waited patiently for John to push the lid in place. All told, it took just under six minutes as Heyes stood by and timed it all with his battered pocket watch. That was faster than he'd expected. He'd made the men practice at the campsite; getting in and out of the empty crates, over and over, until they could do it quickly and easily. John jumped out of the boxcar and pulled the door closed, bolting it. Heyes crawled inside his own box, pulling the side up after him using a rope nailed to the inside on a wooden brace. The last two outlaws stood outside the boxcar and waited patiently for the expressman to arrive.

"Gents," said the man as he drew up to them, but he could see that they weren't gents at all, these two; just a couple of cowboys hired to deliver some horses.

"Howdy," answered Wall-eyed, staring hard at the man with his milky eye. He knew how people reacted when he did that; they couldn't wait to complete their business with him and hurry along.

Uncomfortable, the man looked away and nodded at the boxcar door. "I need to check your box and have you sign the lading slip. Six horses, and some cargo, right?"

"That's right. You'll want to be careful of them horses, though. A few of 'em are kickers," said John.

The expressman eased the door open slightly and peered inside, holding his lantern up to illuminate the car. He saw six horses tied on the other side of the car, their hind ends facing him, and he leaned in further to look at the crates stacked on the right-hand side. He held up his light and Kyle's little mare, who was always ornery on her best days but was in heat now, laid back her ears. She levied a kick that struck the door panel the railroad man was holding onto with a resounding thud. Shaken, the man withdrew quickly. "Looks good. Sign here and you can be on your way."

Wall-eyed signed his alias as the renter of the box and handed the clipboard back to the man. "We'll just wait here until the train pulls out if that's okay. Those nags are my responsibility until this train pulls out. After that, I don't care if they tear each other apart, I'll be paid just the same."

"Suit yourselves," the man answered curtly, before continuing onto the next car as Wall-eyed leaned against a post and John crouched down, smoking a cigarette, showing all signs of being bored with their jobs. The railroad workers began drifting back over the next ten minutes, but paid them little attention. Instead, they were worried about making up the time they'd lost by deserting their work. It had been quickly determined that only the assayer's outhouse had been violated. Outhouse vandalism being something of a rite of passage with many of the town's teenage boys, the sheriff had decided it was not worth too much investigating so very late at night. He would check into it in the morning, after a good night's sleep.

Just before two-thirty a.m., a light swayed back and forth from the engine and a warning whistle sounded. The expressman came back towards the two men, nodding slightly as he passed them, and then breaking into a run. He would climb aboard the last car and wave his lantern, signaling the train's departure. John stood up, tapped lightly on the door, and turned to Wall-eyed. "Time to go; it's a long ride back." John tied his horse to the empty wagon and climbed aboard with his partner so he could relax for a while. They'd ditch the wagon outside of town, tack up the driving horse for Wall-eyed to ride, and make for the Hole.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Hurry it up, Kyle," warned the Kid.

The little outlaw's mare was irritated at being squashed on either side by her companions and she was threatening more kicks. He stood behind her, waiting for a chance to sidle between her and Wheat's big gelding. "I'm trying, Kid."

The Kid looked over his shoulder and saw the problem. He slipped in front of the line of horses and grabbed the mare's head, pushing her front end away from him and swinging her hind end in the opposite direction so Kyle could squeeze in. She kicked out again and Curry slapped her neck hard, yelling, "Move it, you cow!" Her bitchiness had worked in their favor for the first time in her ill-tempered life and now the Kid was done tolerating it. She lifted her head in shock and planted all four feet meekly. Kyle tossed his saddle on and cinched it down quickly. The other men were mounted up and lining up by the door.

Heyes wanted everyone mounted and ready in case of any unplanned stops. The train would be pulling into a water tower further up the line and that's where they'd depart. Kyle grabbed the cantle of his saddle and a hunk of his mare's mane, swinging up, and lining her up on the end by the crates where she couldn't do any real damage to the other horses. Kyle stroked her neck soothingly, apologizing to her for the Kid's rough treatment as best he could.

Heyes sat and waited with his men. The horses shifted their weight and stamped their feet once in a while, but they were used to having to stand quietly for long periods of time and didn't fuss too much. It wouldn't be long. This was the tricky part of the plan. It had been imperative for him to come up with an idea where they didn't have to ride out of town in a big-ass hurry, over snow-covered ground, leaving tracks a five-year old could follow. The thought of using the railroads to rob the bankers had appealed to his sense of irony.

He smiled as he felt the train come to a stop. He could hear the tower's nozzle being lowered into place and he raised his hand to signal his men to be ready. The horses stood still, focused on the tension they could feel building up in their riders' muscles. Finally, Heyes heard footsteps pause outside the door and he glanced at the Kid, who smiled back at him. The two of them had watched this particular train from a nearby stand of trees for almost a week wanting to sure of the expressman's routine; the man was diligent in performing his duties and Heyes was counting on him. The man's routine checking of the loads for shifting during this stop was the crucial part of Heyes's plan, if he failed to open the door, the outlaw leader was prepared to un-couple the car and hack his way out with an axe, but that was far riskier. Fortunately, the door slid open quickly, the railroad man only expecting to make a quick check of the car. His eyes opened wide in shock at the sight of the mounted men facing him before he let go of the door and fell back away from the opening, dropping to the ground, and covering his head.

"Yah," screamed Heyes. His gelding launched itself off the boxcar and into the air before landing easily in the snow alongside the tracks and gathering his haunches under him. He took off in a powerful gallop, leading his companions, who poured out from the boxcar after him. Heads leaned out of the train at various points, drawn by the sound of thundering hoof beats. Mouths fell open at the sight of six horses and riders galloping away from the train and disappearing over the snowy hilltop. It all happened so fast, the guards could only stare in shock.

"What the hell was that?" yelled the engineer, running towards the boxcar.

The expressman stood up and knocked off the snow and dirt that had caked onto him when he threw himself to the wet ground. "Outlaws," he growled.

The engineer looked at him dumbly. "But ain't they supposed to ride _**at**_ a train to rob it?"


	5. The End Of An Era - Chapter 5

"Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine…," counted Heyes as he stacked a small pile of cash on the table in front of him. A motley group of outlaws hovered around watching him divide up the loot carefully. The silence in the leader's cabin was absolute, but several of the men followed the count ticking off the bills on their fingers, until the numbers got too high for them to calculate. "…And this makes two thousand seven hundred and eleven," Heyes slid the money across the table to Hank. "Here's your cut, Hank."

The eager outlaw grabbed the bills and shoved them into his pocket quickly. "Thanks Heyes, Kid." He stood up and hurriedly left the cabin to hide his money before his fellow gang members could see where he kept it. Lobo sat down in his place. "Explain the split to me again."

Heyes sighed. He was asked this question by one of his men nearly every time he divided up the loot after a job. "It's the same as it's always been. Ten percent off the top for the gang's expenses; five percent each of what's left to me and the Kid for putting the plan together; two and a half percent to Wheat for heading up the work; the rest divided equally by the eight of us."

Lobo listened intently, frowned at the end of the explanation, and asked, "So how much did you take?"

Starting to take offense, Heyes glared at the man. "Why do you ask?"

Not intimidated, Lobo stared brazenly back, "'Cause I figure we all have a right to know."

Angry brown eyes flicked a glance at the Kid who nodded imperceptibly. Heyes sat back and held off answering. He wanted to grab Lobo by the throat and drag him across the table, but he struggled to control that impulse. It was always his policy to be transparent with his men about the money. He needed their trust. "All right, I'm taking twelve hundred thirty-nine for my five percent and another twenty-seven eleven, same as you, for the rest of my cut. That's thirty-nine fifty. The Kid gets the same. If that's okay with you, of course," growled Heyes as he leaned forward into Lobo's face.

"And what's Wheat's take?" asked Lobo cooly. He figured Heyes wouldn't go for him in front of the other men.

"That's Wheat's business, Lobo. You can ask him yourself," said the Kid, stepping forward next to his partner, sensing that Heyes's control was about to slip, and casting a cold-eyed look at the craggy outlaw.

"That ain't none of his business!" protested Wheat.

Lobo turned his head and stared at the big, mustached man. "Heyes didn't have any problem telling me his take, you hiding something from the rest of us, Wheat?"

Wheat felt his face go red with anger, but he knew the other men would take it for embarrassment, so he drew himself up and, unable to do the math, he said, "Go ahead, Heyes, tell him my cut."

"We took in twenty-seven thousand, four hundred ninety-seven dollars, so Wheat's take will be thirty-three thirty-one." Heyes stood up. "Kid, you mind taking over splitting up the cash? Me and Lobo are going to step out and have us a private conversation. If any of the rest of you are unhappy with the cut, you can pack up your gear and ride on out of here, but don't plan on coming back."

"I don't have any more questions," said Lobo, starting to squirm.

"Oh, but I've got a whole bunch of them." Heyes seized Lobo by his shirt collar dragging him off his chair. He yanked the man's gun from its holster and tossed it onto the settee, then pulled him out the door as the rest of the gang watched them go.

The Kid slid into his partner's empty chair and started to count loudly. A roomful of eyes swung back in his direction and fixed themselves on the green paper in his hands. No one paid any attention to what was going on outside the cabin.

OOOOOOOOOO

"So how did Lobo's math lesson go?" The Kid handed a chunk of ice he'd fetched from the icehouse and wrapped in a towel to his partner who held it to his right hand.

"He found it illuminating," said Heyes, sitting at the kitchen table in the leader's cabin. "Matter of fact, I'm betting Wheat's going to help teach him some more."

The Kid didn't laugh. He didn't find it funny at all to see Heyes challenged by any of their men. He couldn't be on guard all the time and, despite knowing that his cousin was capable of taking care of himself, it worried him when the men got disrespectful. He frowned and turned his back to his partner and began rummaging around in the pantry.

"Kid, it's okay. He got the message."

"It just pisses me off, that's all. Here we are busting our butts to keep this gang together and running smoothly, then we have to put up with that crap. If Lobo's causing trouble, why don't we just throw him out of here?" The Kid pulled out a can of beans and scowled at it before shoving it back on the shelf. He dug further inside.

"I need him. He's the next best shot after you, and the man can spot the law a mile away. Besides, he's the only man we have who can read above the fourth grade level. That has come in handy more than once." Heyes pulled the ice away and flexed his fingers, wincing; he put the ice back on.

"You need him so bad you're willing to let him challenge you like that?" The Kid pulled down a can of peaches and set it on the counter. He pulled open a drawer and slammed it shut again, pulling open another and reaching in for a can opener.

Heyes grinned and held up a skinned, bruised fist. "He's not going to challenge me again for a long time, partner."

"Yeah, so he'll just stir things up behind your back." Curry turned his attention to the opener and started to work on his can.

"No, I don't think so. He's making better money here than he could by doing anything else and he knows it. Kid, it's Lobo, he's been a troublemaker all along but, when it counts, he's loyal enough."

"I don't like it. Wheat's getting uppity and now Lobo is too. What's it going to take to get them to cross the line and decide to come after your job?" Lifting the jagged lid carefully, the Kid took a spoon from the sink. He scooped a slippery fruit into his mouth and looked at Heyes.

Heyes laughed and stood up to throw an arm across the Kid's shoulders causing him to nearly drop the next spoonful. "They can have my job."

"It ain't funny, Heyes." Curry pulled away and sat down at the table.

"Yes, it is Kid. Look, the boys aren't going to back Wheat or Lobo. That's five more guns than just yours backing me up."

"Well, what if they did back Wheat?" said Kid Curry, around a large mouthful of peaches.

"That day's a long ways off, why are you worrying about it now?"

"It's my job to worry about keeping your back bullet-hole free." Another big mouthful disappeared.

"You know what? I like it when you worry; you take better care of me."

Curry frowned at his cousin and loudly dropped the spoon into the emptied can. Heyes chuckled and picked up his book on his way to his rocker by the fire. From somewhere in the cabin, Lucifer appeared and leapt onto his person's lap, curling up and purring happily.

OOOOOOOOOO

"At least one of the gang's happy with their cut," said the Kid dryly.

"Gully likes to call it his salary, Kid. Remember, he's an employee; not a gang member." Heyes and the Kid had just stopped in to see their cook and give him his split of the take. Gully took a straight two hundred from each job, that money coming from the ten percent for expenses. Since he never had to ride along on a job and get shot at, he was always happy when payday rolled around.

Heyes stepped out of the cookhouse and saw Wheat and Kyle riding down the trail into the Hole. He had sent them out early for a supply run to Belton. To keep his men happy, he rotated the town chores around the gang so that everyone got a chance to blow off a little steam, but not enough time in town to get into any real trouble. Men holed up together for the winter could get awfully testy.

"Heyes, Kid, lookee what I've got," yelled Kyle, jogging into the yard on his little bay mare and waving a newspaper over his head. Wheat trailed him, leading a pack mule loaded with supplies from Belton. "There's a story about the bank job."

Heyes and the Kid walked over towards the barn to meet the two men as they reined up. "What's it say?" asked the dark-haired outlaw leader.

"You know I can't read, Heyes," admonished Kyle, still sitting on his mare.

Wheat had already dismounted. He tied his horse up and turned to his leaders. "I'll tell you what it don't say. It don't say nothin' about the Devil's Hole gang or Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry."

Heyes felt a small twinge of disappointment before remembering that most of the West still believed he was dead. The Kid laughed out loud at the expression on his partner's face. Heyes thrived on the notoriety his thieving brought him. "Hey, that's good. The bounty's high enough on us in Wyoming without Colorado jumping in and adding to it."

Heyes smiled. "That's right; so far we ain't been caught stealing in Colorado yet, Montana neither, not to mention, Texas, Utah, South Dakota and all those other states."

"I don't know; when I pull a job, I like a little respect for it," grumbled Wheat.

"Not me, I want a whole lot of respect," said Kyle, dismounting his horse and handing the paper to Heyes. He led his mare away, chuckling.

"You'd feel real different, Wheat, if the law had ten grand on your head. Twenty-five hundred don't cause near the trouble that ten does," said Heyes, opening the newspaper and starting to read it as he walked back to the cabin with his partner by his side.

Wheat watched him go, frowning. "Think you're a big shot, don't you? Well, it ain't gonna be long before Wheat Carlson's more famous than Hannibal Heyes," he mumbled under his breath.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Geez, Kid, Wheat was right. The law has no idea who pulled that job. Says right here that they think there might be a new gang operating in these parts with someone even smarter than me leading them. Can you believe that? Oh, wait, Marshall Fenton from the Fort Collin's Marshall's Office speculates that Kid Curry might have found himself a new partner. Seems that expressman gave the law a description that matches that no-good, thieving, lowdown…"

"Let me see that paper."

"He says, quote, 'a homely, blond-haired man with a palsied right hand led the gang away.'"

Curry reached over and snatched the paper out of his partner's hand and began reading swiftly through the article. "No, it don't. It says the expressman didn't get a look at the outlaws at all." He looked up at Heyes accusingly, "It doesn't say anything about me."

"Well, are you surprised? The man ate dirt when we took off."

"He did; didn't he?" laughed the Kid. "Does it bother you that they don't know it's us?"

"A little; a man likes to be acknowledged when he's done his job well. Guess I'll just have to soothe my bruised ego with all that cash," smirked Heyes.

OOOOOOOOOO

Several members of the Devil's Hole gang gathered around their own green-baize poker table in the center of the storeroom. Heyes had won the elegant table from a casino owner one profitable night in Denver and had presented it to his men as a gift. Originally, it had been installed in the bunkhouse, but was moved to its new location after one particularly long game that had lasted close to three days. Cass Williams had called a halt to that game by cutting the deck with a hatchet after being sleep deprived by the goings on. The table was moved, but the hatchet remained buried deep in the center of it.

When the gang was larger, seats at the table were often hotly contested and won by the lottery system with the Kid presiding and keeping the process peaceful. With only nine men at the Hole this winter, everyone who wanted to play could sit in. Wall-eyed and Gully had elected to turn in early, so only five men circled the table.

"Lobo, what the heck were you thinkin'; challenging Heyes like that?" asked Hank, looking at the bruised outlaw to his left.

"What's it to you?" growled Lobo. He held his cards in his left hand, his right was still too sore to hold onto anything.

"It affects all of us if one of us goes pissin' Heyes off," said John. "What's the matter with you? That was one of the easiest jobs we ever pulled and you go off and start bitchin' about your cut. Where's the sense in that?"

"I just think we ought to split things even. There's eight men on a job, then the loot gets split eight ways," said Lobo.

Wheat guffawed, "So who's gonna pay for keeping food on the table and the stock fed? Who's gonna buy those new roofin' shingles to fix that leak in the John? You think that stuff pays for itself?"

"That's easy for you to say, Wheat, you get an extra percentage just for pushing your weight around," sniped Lobo, "I don't see you doing nothing special for it."

The chair under Wheat skidded back several feet as he jumped to his feet. "You got a problem with me now? I was gonna overlook you draggin' me into your little drama, but now I don't guess I will. Why don't we step outside and take care of it. 'Less Heyes already kicked the stuffin' out of you." He dropped his right hand close to his gun and glared at Lobo, who glared back.

"Cut it out, you two. What in tarnation's the matter with you?" yelled Kyle. "We just pulled one of the fanciest bank jobs the west has seen; why ain't we celebratin' instead of goin' at each other?"

"Is it true the newspapers said the law don't know who did it?" asked John, hoping to distract the two men.

"That's right. We just got away with almost thirty thousand dollars and there ain't no one the wiser!" cheered Kyle. He glanced at Wheat and Lobo who were still throwing ugly looks at each other.

"Seems like kind of a pity that no one knows we did it. I mean, I kinda like bein' famous, don't you all?" said Hank sadly.

Wheat sat back down and pulled his chair up to the table again. He picked up his cards and studied them carefully. Picking up several chips, he tossed them into the pot. "I see that five and raise ten. You know, if I was leader, I'd make sure everyone knew every job we pulled. I wouldn't be hidin' behind no rumors of my death."

"Heyes ain't a man to keep dead for long, Wheat. You just wait, he's gonna do somethin' truly bodacious and the law's gonna know it was him," said Kyle, confidently.

"If you was leader, Wheat, would you still take ten percent off the top for expenses?" asked Lobo.

OOOOOOOOOO

"I'm thinking it's time for us to start working on the next job, Kid," said Heyes. He and the Kid were out behind the barn doing a little target shooting the next morning. Curry was helping him smooth out his draw with a few exercises.

"Why? We just got done with the last one."

"That's true, but the next one goes kind of hand and hand with that one."

"How so?"

"Well, I figure we're going have to rob the Wells Fargo branch in Laramie seeing as how they have a shiny, new safe that I haven't opened yet."

The Kid grinned at his partner who flubbed his draw badly. "You know, I was wondering when you were gonna get around to that safe. Laramie ain't gonna be easy, though. Not with all the law they have there."

"That'll be part of the fun, partner."

"True. And, the Wyoming Territorial Prison's just down the road a ways. It'll save all sorts of time for them sheriffs and marshalls there; not to mention all those armed Wells Fargo guards."

"What better place to pull a job than in a cesspool full of lawmen?" smiled Heyes as he drew smoothly and mowed down the six tin cans lined up along the top rail of the corral fence.

"If you try pulling that job, Heyes, you're gonna need a gun that shoots a lot more bullets."

_**Hi All,**_

_** Thanks for reading along with me and also for your kind comments. I just wanted to let you all know that it might be a few of weeks before I can post the next chapter. I'm going on a camping trip and doubt I'll have many chances to get on the internet. I will post if I can, but if not, I plan to set my mind to Heyes's next devious plan.**_

_**Take care,**_

_** InsideOutlaw**_


	6. Chapter 6

**I had some extra time to write today, so here's a short "teaser" chapter. See you all soon **

The small sorrel gelding tossed his head and snorted, jogging to the other side of the corral away from Heyes, who stood by the fence with a dried apple in his hand. He climbed over the top rail and dropped inside the muddy pen, walking slowly toward the gelding and whistling the same three notes, over and over. The horse eyed him as he neared and then jogged away. He heard a chuckle behind him and turned to see his partner watching him.

"He's a real jughead, Kid."

"No, he ain't. He just ain't Fannie. No horse is gonna measure up, Heyes."

Tossing the apple into the bucket tied to the rail, Heyes walked back to Curry wearing a sad smile. "She sure was something, wasn't she?"

"She still is, and now she'll be making more somethings. You ain't sorry you gave her to Allie, are you?"

"No. Fannie was the only thing I had that was good enough for Allie. I'm not sorry." Heyes sorely missed that woman and that mare. His partner knew it.

"You did the right thing for Fannie. She's too fine a filly to be risking her getting shot or breaking a leg. She ought to be making babies."

Heyes smiled and looked back at the gelding who still eyed him warily. "Guess I'll have to get used to riding other horses."

"You will. When do you plan on riding into Laramie?"

"I thought we'd head out of here about four or so; that ought to put us in town pretty late. We'll steer clear of the saloons and that way we ought to miss the law."

"I sure hope so, partner."

OOOOOOOOOO

It was a Wednesday night, and Laramie was fairly quiet. There were still a few drunks milling around outside a couple of the saloons when the Kid and Heyes rode in, but they were the serious sort of drunks, the kind that drank themselves into oblivion, not the Saturday-night-rowdy-cowboy-call the sheriff kind of drunks.

The Kid kept a close eye out for any sign of the law while the two partners rode down Thornburg Avenue to the Kuster Hotel. They planned to stay the night. Curry was looking forward to it, the Kuster was a nice place and the food was good; he could already taste that big, juicy, beefsteak he was going have.

Dismounting in front of the hotel, both men knocked the trail dust from their clothes. Heyes removed his carpetbag from his saddle, the Kid grabbed his saddlebags, and they stepped inside the building. A night clerk was dozing at the desk, balanced precariously on a small stool with his head down on the register. Heyes walked noisily up to the counter and the man never stirred. He cleared his throat. No response. He looked at his partner, looked at the bell next to the man's right ear, and grinned broadly. He rang the bell enthusiastically causing the startled clerk to fall off his stool. Embarrassed, the poor man quickly pulled himself upright, straightened his checkered vest, and tried to regain his dignity. "Good evening, sirs, how might I be of service to you?"

"We'd like a room, two beds, two baths; for one night, please," said Heyes.

"Yes sir, I can accommodate you. That will be three dollars for the room and a dollar for both the baths. Would you care to board your horses as well?" the man asked politely. "That would be an extra dollar, sirs, but I can have my man take them around for you."

"Sounds good to me," Heyes spun the register around and signed them both in.

"Is the dining room still open?" asked the Kid.

"Yes sir, until midnight, sir. It's eleven-twenty-three right now, sir." The clerk held out the room key to the Kid. "Your room is upstairs on the second floor, third door on the left overlooking Thornburg, Mr…aah" he looked at the upside down register, "…Lingelbach."

"Thanks," said Curry. Heyes picked up his bag and they started up the steps.

"Lingelbach? You know, it sure is a good thing you never had children. I shudder to think of the names you'd have saddled them with."

"The stranger the name, the less it looks like an alias. Trust me, with a name like mine, if I was naming a kid; it'd be Bill or John."

OOOOOOOOOO

At two a.m., the door to room twenty-five eased open, and a dark head peered out. Heyes crept out into the hallway followed by Kid Curry. They slithered down the stairs along the wall edge to avoid any creaky treads and snuck past the sleeping desk clerk. Once out on the street, the two men picked up the pace and ducked down the alley alongside the hotel. They stuck to the alleyways until they reached the back door to the Wells Fargo office. Heyes took a few minutes to pick the three locks that secured the back door and he and the Kid slipped inside. Curry crossed the room quickly and lowered a partially opened shade before checking the other rooms.

Heyes lit a single small candle and put it inside a shielded miner's lantern. It cast very little light, but enough for their purposes. He went into the front of the building and began opening and closing the desk drawers. He pulled out the papers in each drawer and quickly scanned them, pausing to study a few more slowly. In one of the last drawers, he found a set of keys, left by a careless employee. He picked them up and rattled them lightly to get the Kid's attention. Curry was keeping watch out the front window. He turned and looked at Heyes who held up the keys. The Kid smiled then gestured that it was time to go. They'd been there less than three minutes.

Using the keys, Heyes re-locked all three locks on the back door. He would've had to have left the large deadbolt open and had been hoping that the opening clerk coming in the morning would chalk that up to a co-worker's carelessness. This way, no one would be the wiser about their little late night visit and no self-respecting Wells Fargo clerk was going to admit he'd lost a set of keys to the bank, either. Heyes slipped the key ring into his pocket.

OOOOOOOOOO

Closing the door to their hotel room, Heyes chuckled happily, "Can you believe it? What is up with these banks, they're practically handing the money to us."

The Kid flopped on the bed and yawned, "Too bad they didn't leave you the combination to that safe."

Heyes was brimming with energy and nearly bounced as he walked back and forth at the foot of the Kid's bed. "We don't need the combination, Kid. I've changed my mind; we aren't robbing the bank."

"We ain't? Why not? I thought that's what tonight was all about? We were casing the place to figure out when the money came in."

"We were and I did figure it out, but then I got another idea."

Curry groaned and rolled his eyes, "I hate your ideas."

"No you don't, not all of them, and you're gonna love this one." Heyes was smiling maniacally, his dimples carved deeply into his cheeks.

"Tell me in the morning, I ain't listening anymore," the Kid turned onto his side and pulled the pillow over his head.

Heyes walked over and sat next to him, pulling the pillow away, and causing his partner to look up at him. "We rob banks all the time. What if we did something the law won't expect us to? Wells Fargo is beefing up security. They're nervous after the Fort Collins robbery and they got a big shipment coming in real soon so they're putting on more guards. No one's taking any chances. Now, the problem with the job I had planned is that Wells doesn't hold onto the money long before it gets shipped back out. We'd have to time everything real close to catch that safe full of money, and you can bet your ass that, when it's full, Wells is going to have plenty of guards watching it.

So, I got to thinking…" Heyes held up a hand to stop his partner from interjecting, "hold on now, don't say anything, hear me out. Wells ships gold and money all over the west by stagecoach. It's their business. Now, this big shipment is coming in and Wells is figuring it'll be safer to ship it in two parts; they're gonna use two brand-new specially fortified stages to deliver it. They're hiring on more drivers and shotgun riders, too, just to keep an eye on the money that's being brought in and make sure it gets into their brand-new safe."

"We don't rob stagecoaches, Heyes, particularly not fortified ones. Remember, you made that rule?" mumbled the Kid, turning his back to his cousin again.

"We ain't robbing the stagecoaches."

The Kid rolled onto his back once more and stared at his partner. "If we ain't robbing the bank and we ain't robbing the stages, what the hell are we doing?"

"We're going to steal the stages, Kid, it'll be faster and safer that way."

"Two stagecoaches? Ain't they going to be a little hard to carry off?"

OOOOOOOOOO


	7. Chapter 7

Heyes gave his cinch one last firm tug. His gelding laid his ears back and lifted his hind leg in irritation. "Don't even think about it, you flea-bitten hay burner." He had offered to fetch the horses and settle up the hotel bill in order to let his tired, surly partner sleep in a little longer, but he was feeling a bit out of sorts himself and wasn't sure why. He'd been so excited last night, but, after a restless night, he had awakened to a cloudy, overcast morning, and felt his spirits fade. The weather was really getting to be a problem. Now snow was falling heavily and it was going to be a long, cold, sloppy ride back to the Hole.

Pulling out his pocket watch, he glanced at it, and looked up the street. Laramie was quiet at this hour and there weren't many folks wandering the sidewalks yet, but his glance was caught by a trim figure crossing the street. He felt his heart skip a beat and a frisson of tension rippled through his body, causing him to involuntarily step in that direction as his partner came out onto the porch.

"What's wrong?" The Kid asked as he saw his partner's attention fixed on something up the street. "Is it the sheriff?" He dropped his hand to his gun and, turning his head, saw a young woman walking carefully along a narrow board crossing the mud. "Heyes, that ain't her," he said gently, taking his hand off his pistol grip and relaxing.

"Don't you think I know that?" snapped Heyes, swinging around and trying to pretend that he hadn't been shaken. The Kid saw the brief flash of pain in his partner's brown eyes before anger filled them. "What took you so damn long?" said Heyes as he grabbed a hank of mane and swung up onto his gelding. The Kid ignored his outburst, untied his own horse, and mounted.

Riding past the storefront he had seen the young woman go into, Heyes couldn't resist glancing through the glass, but he couldn't see anyone inside. The Kid watched him. He hated seeing Heyes like this. "You ain't said more than a few words about Allie in the last couple of months so I know you're still hurting. About the only time you ever shut that mouth of yours is when you're upset about something and it's plain that you've been upset a lot lately." Mutinous eyes met the Kid's and he held them with his own calm gaze. "It's time for you to let go."

Heyes glared at his partner, ready to lose his temper, but, instead, he sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes. "You're right. It's just that it's not that simple; I can't stop thinking about her. She's everywhere; in my dreams, on the street. Hell, even when we were in the bank last night I couldn't stop thinking about her. I've tried everything I can to get her out of my head and nothing helps."

The Kid frowned; he knew how deeply his partner's feelings went. "You've gotta quit it or you're gonna get yourself or one of us killed."

"So tell me how. I've tried other women, that didn't work. Outlawing ain't doing it either. Why the hell do you think I've been planning one job after another?"

"I know what you've been doing, Heyes, and I've stood back and let you do it because I knew you had to get it out of your system; now it's high time you did. It ain't fair to the rest of us and it ain't safe for you or the gang."

"You're right," said Heyes softly after several quiet minutes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" prompted the Kid. Heyes had to stop keeping everything bottled up inside and letting it eat at him.

"Ain't nothing left to talk about." Heyes spurred his gelding into a gallop, leaving the Kid frowning at his retreating back. That sure didn't go as well as he'd hoped it would.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Are you two plumb loco? I ain't doin' that!" growled Wheat. He and the other men were sitting around the woodstove in the bunkhouse listening to the latest insane plan they were expected to follow. He looked at the other men's faces and saw varying degrees of disbelief on each and every one of them. Turning back to his leader, he stood up. "Forget it. You've gone too damn far, Heyes. It can't be done and we ain't backin' this plan, are we boys?" The many pairs of eyes watching him blustering began to slip away. Even Kyle found the fire suddenly interesting. "Well, are we?" asked Wheat again, more feebly.

The Kid pushed himself upright from the wall he'd been leaning against. He could hardly blame Wheat, he wasn't sure he believed in this plan either, but it didn't matter, he'd back his partner. "It can work. Forty thousand dollars is a lot of money to pass by, Wheat."

"What about you, Lobo? Are you in or out?" asked Heyes, pointedly.

"You ain't buyin' into this, are you?" Wheat was staring at Lobo. "You know he's givin' you and me the riskiest jobs, don't you?"

Lobo, irritated that Wheat put him on the spot, slid his eyes to his boss. "I'm in, Heyes, but I want the same cut Wheat gets for this one."

"You'll get it. Who else wants to make a little extra doing Wheat's job for him?" Hank's hand shot up and Heyes nodded at him, "Okay, Hank, you've got it. So do you want in on this job at all, Wheat, or are you planning to ride out?"

Wheat's eyes widened. It was a full-blown blizzard outside and he had no desire to be turned out of the Hole into it. He looked around at his erstwhile compatriots one last time and, seeing no support amongst them, he sat down and mumbled, "Hold on a dang second, just 'cause I don't want to get my head blowed off doin' something stupid, don't mean I'm out."

OOOOOOOOOO

"Hank, you seen Heyes?" asked the Kid as he walked out of the leader's cabin.

"I saw him go into the barn a while back; ain't seen him since." Hank was hauling a load of split wood up to the bunkhouse. It was hard going through the deep snow that had fallen since last's week's heavy blizzard. The weather had become a real problem for the gang. They only had a few more days before they had to be ready for the Wells Fargo job and it wasn't cooperating in the least. The Kid passed Hank heading to the barn. He had a few concerns he wanted to talk over with his partner. Not the least of which was how on earth could they steal a stage through snow this deep? The stages would still be running and the routes they used would be plowed to some degree, but nothing else would be. He was sure Heyes had a plan to deal with the snow and it was time he was let in on it.

John and Gully were out with shovels doing their best to clear the snow from the yard while Kyle and Wheat were splitting logs from the pile out behind the cookhouse. The Kid could hear Wall-eyed working at the anvil in the storage shed, hammering away at a horseshoe or something. This was the first break they'd had from the series of storms that had swept across the Hole over the last week and the chores had to be done before the next storm rolled in. Dark clouds were beginning to coagulate in the slate sky. It took some effort for the Kid to pull open one of the large doors to the barn. He had to grab it with both hands and yanked it towards him, clearing a swath of snow as he did. "Heyes? You in here?"

"Yeah, over here."

The Kid squeezed through the narrow opening he had made. He could hear a steady, rasping sound from one of the stalls. He peeked inside and saw his partner bent over a pair of sawhorses. He had his shirt off, despite the cold, and Curry could see the sweat sheen across his muscles as Heyes worked. His partner stopped and straightened, turning to him and using his free hand to sweep back the hair that had fallen in his eyes. "What's up?"

The Kid looked past Heyes to what he was working on and began to chuckle. "Heyes, you really are a criminal genius!"

OOOOOOOOOO

"Next," said the gray-haired man sitting at the large desk. His head was down and the pen in his hand was scrawling notes across the paper in front of him. He had hoped for a better turnout than this. The weather must be keeping most folks inside; only the truly desperate would turn out on a day like this. A shadow appeared on his desk and he looked up at the man who was hovering over him and nervously toying with the hat held in his hand. "Name?"

Hank hesitated for a second trying to remember his alias. Damn Heyes for always coming up with some crazy name! "Er, Floyd, um, Floyd Bea-gle-spiker."

"How do you spell that?"

Hank had no idea and stared at the clerk, confusion etched on his face. Lobo cleared his throat and drew the man's attention to him. "Mister, my friend's a good man and a real experienced hand with a stagecoach team, but he can't read or write a lick. Not even his own name."

Hank turned red, but shot a grateful look at Lobo, and cleared his throat. "Yessir, that's right. Ain't never learned how, but tell me somethin' once and I don't ever forget it."

"No need to be embarrassed, son; most of the men driving for us don't read or write. That won't disqualify you from working for Wells. You say you've driven a stage before?"

Smiling broadly at remembering the stagecoach heists he used to pull with his last gang, Hank nodded and said, "Yessir, me and my buddy here have driven many a stage under some real unusual conditions."

The gray-haired man returned his smile, pleased to finally have some experienced recruits. He turned to Lobo, "And your name, sir?"

"Bosco Carstairs."

"All right, Mr. Carstairs. You and Mr. Beaglespiker report to the Wells Fargo stable on 11th Street in an hour. You're hired. The job pays two dollars a day plus room and board."

Hank chuckled and patted Lobo on the back. "Hear that Bosco? We's Wells Fargo men now. Ain't that somethin'?"

"Yeah," mumbled Lobo sourly, "really something."

OOOOOOOOOO

Kyle and Wheat rode into the yard at Devil's Hole, dismounted, and trotted up the steps onto the porch of the leader's cabin. Kyle turned to spit out his chaw and glanced at Wheat, who was scowling. He'd been sulking for days. Lifting his fist, Kyle rapped sharply, and opened the door.

"Hey, you here, Heyes? Kid?"

The Kid walked out of his bedroom, wiping the shaving cream off his face. "Yeah, we're here. Heyes just stepped out to the privy for a second. You want some coffee?"

Wheat nodded and sat down with Kyle at the table. The smaller outlaw smiled and said, "Thanks. You got anythin' to eat?"

"Already ate, you're too late. When you're done here you can hit Gully up for some biscuits. He's been baking all morning."

Heyes walked in as the Kid handed out the mugs. He noticed that Wheat suddenly found his coffee interesting and wouldn't look him in the eye; this worried him. "You did meet up with Hank and Lobo, didn't you?"

Kyle grinned, revealing his blackened, tobacco-infused teeth, "Sure did, Heyes. It's all goin' just like you planned. Hank's even drivin' one of them. Lobo's ridin' shotgun on the other. He said to tell you it's happenin' Friday and he drew out the routes for you." Kyle reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Here you go. He wrote down some other stuff for you, too."

Heyes took the proffered note and read it carefully. "Good work. Go see if Gully's got some breakfast for you." He waited until the door closed behind his two men and then looked at the Kid and grinned, "Wheat still isn't talking to me."

"Kinda noticed that."

"Lobo says he got a good look at the strongboxes and thinks they could be picked open easily enough. Says they're reinforced all right, but they're locked with a regular padlock. We'll bring along some dynamite just in case. He also says he and Hank will be heading out on two different routes. Wells is being careful, Kid."

"Not careful enough if they've already handed out that information. Let me take a look at the maps," said the Kid, holding out his hand. Heyes handed them over, sat down, and waited. "Looks okay, but we'll have to split the gang and that means fewer men and more that can go wrong."

"It'll be fine. You can take one bunch and I'll take the other."

"No." The Kid was still looking down at the drawing in his hands and not looking at his cousin.

"What do you mean-no?"

Curry could feel the heat of his partner's stare, but answered calmly, "I mean, no, I ain't splitting up from you."

Heyes's hand smacked down on the wooden table, "Damn it, Kid, I need you to do this."

"Forget it, I'm not doing it."

Heyes's temper boiled over and he stood up slamming his chair back against the wall. "I'm leader and I say you are!"

The Kid stood up slowly and took three short steps, his blue eyes turning frosty, and he leaned towards his cousin's face. Heyes, seeing him coming, had raised his fists and was prepared for a fight. Curry knocked the fists aside. "I ain't fighting you on this, Heyes, and I ain't splitting up with you, neither, and that's final."

Heyes lowered his arms. He knew a fight would do nothing to change the Kid's mind when he took that tone. "Can I at least ask why?" he said sarcastically.

The Kid smiled slightly, knowing he had won, and placed his hands on his partner's shoulders, his blue eyes softening as he looked at Heyes. "Because you ain't yourself and you know it. It's my job to watch your back and keep you safe and I'm doing it whether you like it or not. Let Wheat take the other team. He's had his pants on fire to lead the gang; let him try."

OOOOOOOOOO

The pot clanged loudly as Gully dropped the lid back onto the stewpot he had just stirred. The door next to the stove opened slightly and Heyes poked his head in. "You have a second to talk to me?" asked the outlaw leader.

"I'm making stew; I ain't got nothing but time 'til it's done," said the older man. "Grab yourself one of them biscuits and sit down with me. I was just about to take a load off."

Heyes picked up a biscuit off the plate warming on the shelf above the stove and shoved it into his mouth while pulling out a chair. He sat and savored the warm treat as Gully finished at the stove before turning to him. "What is it you need, Heyes?"

The younger man smiled around his mouthful and swallowed before speaking. "I need your help, Gully. We're going to be short-handed on this next job and I could use an extra man."

Gully shook his head regretfully, "You know I ain't no outlaw. I told you flat out that I wasn't gonna be stealing from no one when I came to work for you."

"Yes, you did, and I wouldn't ask except things are getting complicated. Wheat needs at least four men for the route he's taking and that leaves just Kid and me for the second stage. We can't do it with just the two of us, we need a third man." Seeing the gray-haired man opening up his mouth to protest, Heyes jumped up and started pacing. "I ain't asking you to stick a gun in anyone's face, Gully. All I need you to do is stay hidden and lay down some cover for the Kid and me and then help us get the stage away. You won't need to see anyone and no one will see you."

"You think that's what this is about? I don't give a dang if anyone sees me. I'll know what I did."

Heyes met the man's angry stare with one of his own. "Gully, where do you think that two hundred dollars a job I pay you comes from? We steal it. We, the Devil's Hole gang, take it and you know that. You work for me which makes you one of the gang. I know you don't like to admit it, but you are an outlaw. You are also one of my men and I'm asking for your help." He reached out and put his hand on the cook's arm and said quietly, "I helped you when you needed it, or have you forgotten?"

Gully flushed at the reminder and lowered his eyes, then raised them again. "All right, I'll do it this time, but don't ever ask me again. We're square after this. Got it?"

"I won't ask again. Thanks, Gully." Knowing that he had worn out his welcome, and feeling ashamed at having to strong-arm his friend, Heyes stood and walked to the door. "We'll be riding out the morning after next. Come on up to the cabin by six a.m."

The cook didn't answer. He lifted the lid off the pot on the stove again, grabbed his wooden spoon, and savagely attacked its contents as the door swung closed.


	8. Chapter 8

Great puffs of frozen breath rose from the horses' nostrils as the two outlaw leaders waited behind the large rock outcropping that had cleaved from the cliff face. Heyes was watching the stage through a pair of binoculars while the Kid was stamping his feet trying to stay warm in the frigid morning air. He held his and Heyes's horses in one hand and had the other hand, his gun hand, tucked inside his sheepskin coat to stay warm. Gully's horse and Lobo's horse, packed and harnessed to a toboggan-like contraption, were tied to a snow-covered bush on the far side of the rocks where they wouldn't be visible from the road. "Is it almost here?" asked Curry for the third time in the past hour.

His partner dropped the field glasses down and looked at him in disbelief. "What are you? Six years old? It's still coming. The road's real bad and it's gonna take some time. Now quit asking." Up came the glasses again, as Heyes watched the coach struggling slowly through the slippery mud and snow. The narrow wooden wheels were sinking deeply in spots and causing the stage to slide from side to side. The six horses pulling it were throwing their shoulders into their harnesses and digging for solid ground but they weren't making much progress and were barely able to maintain a slow, uneasy jog.

Heyes smiled. That suited him just fine. He had no intention of trying to chase down a fleeing stagecoach in these conditions. He could see Lobo riding shotgun next to the driver and thought he could make out two men riding inside. He doubted they were passengers; they must be guards. A small movement in the corner of his field of vision drew his attention to the road stretched out behind the stagecoach. "DAMMIT!" he yelled.

"Sheesh, you sure got up on the wrong side of your bedroll."

"Someone else is coming up the road. They're still pretty far behind. It looks like a wagon, but I can't tell how many people. This could screw up the whole plan."

"So we go to Plan 'B'."

"Plan B's gonna take time, too. You're going to have to dissuade that wagon from getting too close. That's going to take some fine shooting. Gully can give me a hand."

"I'll trade places with him after the stop." The Kid looked at the top of the cliff where Gully lay hidden from sight. He had to be cold, too. At least it was clear today for a change. "You know, I gotta say, I'm surprised you got him to agree to help us."

"He saw the sense of it after I explained it to him," said Heyes in a clipped tone that caused his cousin to look at him suspiciously.

"Aw, Heyes, what did you say?"

"I said what I had to say to get the job done." He kept his eyes trained on the road below, refusing to look at his cousin.

The Kid shook his head and wisely changed the subject. "I sure hope this works."

"It'll work, quit worrying."

"Quit doing things that worry me."

Heyes glanced at his partner. "You losing faith in my planning abilities, partner?"

"Don't matter how well you planned, you don't have all the say in how this goes down, partner," said the Kid.

"C'mon, it's time to mount up." Heyes stowed the binoculars in his saddlebag and took his gelding's reins from the Kid. He swung up and turned to his partner. "Be safe, Kid."

Curry, swung up onto his own horse, lifted his arm and waved up to Gully signaling him to be ready to provide cover if necessary. He saw a gray head peeking up slightly from a large boulder and the muzzle of a Sharps rifle appeared. He turned to his lifelong friend and said, "You too, Heyes." They often said something similar at the start of a job; a quiet acknowledgment of the risks they were taking. There was nothing more dangerous than riding head on at an armed vehicle and, no matter how you planned it, there always came the point when you had to expose yourself to the guns. They'd been lucky so far, but luck didn't last forever and they both knew it.

They waited patiently until they could hear the jingle of the stagecoach team's harnesses and then they slowly slogged their horses through the deep snow; the leather-padded horseshoes preventing their mounts from sinking too deeply. Reaching the road, they turned onto it and rode abreast towards a small hill. They could hear the approaching coach, but they still couldn't see it. As they crested the hill, they saw the stagecoach coming towards them. The driver saw them, too, and realized he had no room to go around them without sinking his vehicle into the deep snow on either side of the road. Pulling at the team, he yelled, "For Pete's sake, get off the damn road." Turning to his shotgun rider, he said, much more quietly, "What are these two morons thinkin' hoggin' the road like that? Keep 'em covered."

Lobo smiled and lifted his rifle casually aiming it at the two approaching men who rode calmly toward the stage, smiling and waving their arms. "Looks like they're flagging us down; Banks, Morton, look alive, we've got company." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a gun poke out the window. He sure hoped the two guards inside the coach didn't have itchy trigger fingers. He'd spent the last couple of weeks trying to get to know all the drivers and guards, but wouldn't you know it, these two had been on a long run to the coast and he'd had no more time with them than a few minutes this morning to mumble a quick greeting. Still, Wheat had been wrong; this job was not the most dangerous. The Kid and Heyes had saved that one for themselves. Ironically, because of his belly-aching, Wheat was gonna have to do the same with the other coach.

The driver was standing up now, leaning his weight back and hauling on the reins with all his strength, "Whoa, I said whoa, you mule-headed buzzard bait." The team came to a stop only a few feet from Heyes and the Kid who sat their horses and smiled easily at Lobo and the driver.

"Howdy. The road's closed ahead—mudslide. We had to turn back." Heyes was talking and pointing in the direction he was pretending to have come from.

"Keep your gun on 'em, Bosco. I don't like this," said the driver softly before yelling down to the two men blocking his path, "How far ahead?"

"Couple of miles, where the road cuts through that canyon with the stunted pinyons growing out that broken rock; slide's on the far side." said the Kid with a rueful grin. "There ain't room in there to turn a rig this big around, but there's a wide spot up ahead."

Nodding, the driver was thinking fast. He knew that part of the route and it was a likely place for a mudslide. He'd ridden past that point many times and had wondered how long it would be before those barren hillsides came roaring down at him. All this snow must've loosened things up. He looked again at the two friendly men who obviously knew the canyon, too, from their description, and he decided they were right. If he got stopped deep in that narrow canyon, he'd be hard-pressed to get his team out of there. Not to mention, it would be a real likely spot for an ambush. Why, heck, maybe that mudslide was no accident.

He looked again at the genial, open faces of the two men in front of him and made his choice. These two he could handle. "I know just where you're talkin' about. Damn it all to Hell, we'll have to go back and swing east at that last crossroad. Much obliged to you boys." He clucked to his horses and whispered to Lobo, "Bosco, don't you take your eyes off these two. This could be a trap." The team of horses picked up a slow jog and Heyes and the Kid parted to let them pass between them, sidling their mounts tightly to the steep snow banks.

Heyes sat comfortably in his saddle leaning over his forearm which was resting atop his saddle horn, giving all signs of being totally relaxed. The Kid pulled his canteen from his saddle and started to unscrew the top as the coach began to slide by. Just as the eyes of the two guards shifted away from them, Heyes nodded. Lobo, who had been holding his rifle and his eyes on his boss as he rode past, saw the signal and lifted the butt of his rifle sharply, striking the driver squarely in his jaw and silently knocking him out. With one hand, Lobo held onto the driver's shirt saving him from a fall likely to kill him; with his other, he grappled for the reins and slapped them hard on the horses' backs causing the team to leap forward. The coach lurched dangerously to the right and the two men inside were caught off-guard and thrown ruthlessly to the floor. They scrambled for their dropped weapons and sat up quickly only to find Heyes's and the Kid's guns aimed at them through opposite windows.

"Easy now, fellas. No sense in suicide," said Heyes with a dimpled smile. The men slowly laid down their guns again and lifted their hands over their heads. The Kid dismounted, and pulled open the coach door, signaling with his gun barrel for the two men to step out and drop to the muddy ground. They did.

Lobo lowered the unconscious driver down to Heyes who dragged him over to the two guards. Lobo stayed seated in the box holding the horses steady. The Kid was finishing up with binding the guards' arms behind their backs when the driver groaned and opened his eyes. Heyes rolled him onto his stomach and tied his wrists together. Standing up, the outlaw leader pulled off his black hat and waved it over his head, signaling to Gully that it was time to bring the other horses in. Heyes walked back to the door of the stage and pulled it open, looking in. A large strongbox, securely bolted to an iron plate inset into the stagecoach floor, sat solidly before him. He shut the door and knelt down looking at the undercarriage. The plate was welded to a metal frame that spanned the underside of the coach. There would be no removing the strongbox; not without dismantling the stage piece by piece. Lobo had been thorough in his assessment with the exception of the lock. It was a Chubb's lock. It could take hours to open or Heyes might not be able to get it open at all; and he couldn't take a chance on blowing it right here, either, and tipping off the other wagon that there was trouble ahead. Plan B it was.

The cook rode towards him leading the other horse through the snow. Heyes smiled at him, pleased that he was working out so well, but Gully wore a deep frown that didn't soften as he drew closer to his boss.

The Kid pulled the driver to a sitting position and leaned the three Wells Fargo men against each other, then walked towards Heyes and Gully, leaving the muttering men behind. He saw the cook pull off his old beaver hat and throw it angrily to the ground. As Curry neared the box of the coach, he stopped and looked up at Lobo, who was smiling. "Old Gully looks pretty pissed. I wonder what Heyes said to him," said the craggy outlaw, so quietly the Kid could hardly hear him.

"There's a wagon coming up behind us. We're gonna have to change up the plan."

"Shoot."

"Darn right," said the Kid, looking back towards his partner. Heyes was wiping off Gully's hat and handing it over to the gray-haired man who took it, nodding his head in agreement with whatever was rolling off his cousin's tongue. The cook still didn't look happy, but it appeared he was going along with the new plan. Curry went over to his horse and mounted up, wanting to be in place before that wagon got within range. He waved at his partner, who waved him off, and rode out towards the cliffs.

Efficiently, Heyes and Gully unharnessed the packed horse and lifted the traces off it. Gully led the horse away as Heyes went to his saddlebags and pulled out a wrench. He quickly went to work on the bolts that held the traces to the toboggan. Once they were removed, he started working a set of straps that held one side of the sledge to the other. Gully returned with another wrench and started work from the other side.

Lobo, sitting in the box of the stagecoach and holding the team still, kept his rifle trained on the three men sitting bound by the side of the road. The Wells Fargo men were watching the other two outlaws and wondering what they were doing. The driver laughed out loud derisively, "What in tarnation are you two doin'? Don't you all have enough sense to skedaddle? You can't open that box. You might as well ride out of here and save your thievin'necks."

"Shut up, you old goat," growled Lobo, climbing down from his perch. He went to the lead horse and took hold of the big bay's bridle.

"You boys must be new at this. You didn't think things through. It's kind of hard to get away when there's no place to go," chuckled one of the guards.

The last strap was undone, and Heyes pulled it off. The toboggan fell apart into two separate wide wooden runners, each with a curved-up front end. He grabbed one and Gully grabbed the other. Using a small leather strap laced through a hole in the tip of each runner, they towed their burdens around and lined them up in front of the stagecoach on either side of the two wheel horses while Lobo soothed the team and kept them still. Heyes bent down and undid the two metal shackles near either end of his runner. Wall-eyed had forged them according to the design Heyes had come up with and they looked like a perfect fit. Gully unshackled his, too. Straightening, Heyes signaled his readiness to Lobo who gently urged the horses forward while Heyes and Gully kept the runners in line with the wheels. Slowly, inch by inch, the iron-bound wooden stagecoach wheels rolled onto the runner until they were centered in the shackles. Heyes yelled, "Whoa!" and held up his hand. Lobo halted the team. As one, Heyes and Gully bent down again and snapped the shackles shut, binding the wheels to the runners securely.

The guards and driver gaped as the outlaws worked. It was now obvious to them that these men, far from being novices at outlawing, had come up with a devious plan. The grizzled driver hissed to the guard on his right. "Who are these guys?" The man shook his head. He didn't know and he didn't care as long as he made it home in one piece.

Lobo swung back up into the box and snatched up the long lines to the team. Clucking softly, he asked the team to move forward slowly. The coach started to move, but suddenly slewed sideways in the muddy snow, slamming into Heyes, and knocking him off his feet. It tilted dangerously on one runner, hovering over him as Heyes watched in horror. He closed his eyes and waited for the crushing impact.

"Heyes!" yelled Gully, throwing himself at the right rear wheel which, along with the front, had lifted the runner off the ground. Hugging the spokes, he felt himself lifted off the ground and he planted his feet on the runner, leaning all of his weight back as far as he could. It was enough to shift the balance and the coach came crashing back down on both runners. Lobo pulled the team up and wrenched his head around to find Heyes sitting up and wiping snow off his face. Gully ran to his boss's side. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," said Heyes. Gully grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet. He was winded and sore from the blow, but nothing was broken. "I'm okay, thanks. I owe you."

"Yes, I guess you do," said Gully with a small, satisfied smile.

"Let's go get this stage going," yelled Heyes. He stepped back, well out of the way this time, and watched as the stagecoach started picking up speed, gliding easily over the ruts and soft spots in the snowy road. Pulling off his hat again, he waved it in the Kid's direction and was surprised to see his partner stand up and wave back. A minute or two later, he saw Curry galloping through the snow towards them. Heyes turned to Gully, "Go on and take off, we'll catch up with you."

Gully wasted no time scrambling onto his horse and taking off, leading Lobo's horse behind him. The outlaw leader walked over to the bound men and stood over them. He watched as the Kid slid his horse to a stop and smiled down at him, "Wagon's stuck in the mud a way's back. They have no idea we're here."

Heyes looked in the direction the coach and Gully had disappeared, making sure they were out of sight. He pulled out his gun and the men tied up at his feet, cringed, seeing their own deaths before them. Pointing his pistol to the sky, Heyes fired one shot. "They do now," he said with a grin. He looked at the driver, "There's a wagon a few miles back. They'll give you a lift out of here before you freeze to death." He climbed onto his horse and wheeled it around. "Let's go or we're going to be late meeting up with the others."

"Hey, mister," said the driver, getting the attention of the dark-haired rider before him. "That fella called you Heyes. I only know of one outlaw named Heyes and the newspapers say that he's deader than a doornail. Who are you?"

"Him? He's Hannibal Heyes and he don't look dead to me. Didn't your mama teach you not to believe everything you read in the papers?" laughed the Kid.


	9. Chapter 9

"Are Kyle and Wall-eyed in position?" asked Wheat as John returned to the small copse of evergreens the gang was using to conceal its presence. The thick trees were hiding them from the road and their two horses were picketed behind them in a swale surrounded by a bare-branched tangle of thick brush that dipped down below their hiding place. It was cold; never having warmed up much since the sun rose, and Wheat was shaking his hands trying to keep some feeling in the fingers. It'd be just his luck to have his trigger finger cramp up on him.

"Yep. That little partner of yours sure is excited," chuckled John, "He's really hoping he'll have to blow that bridge."

"Yeah, well, I'm not plannin'on it. This here robbery's gonna go off slick as snot." Wheat sure hoped it would. Despite showing nothing but confidence to his men, he was nervous. He'd robbed lots of banks and trains and had often led the gang in executing jobs, but this was the first time he'd tried robbing a stage. He was no coward, but the thought of facing down an armed stagecoach didn't sit well with him. Damn Heyes for taking the stage Lobo was covering. Hank was driving this one and his guard was one of the real Wells' men. Wheat had made real sure his men knew they'd drawn the tougher job. If this went well, he also knew he'd have bragging rights for a long time.

"Here it comes," said John, pointing towards the road. He hurried back down the way he'd just come, staying out of view of the road, and slipping down into the swale to collect his and Wheat's horses. Wheat raised the binoculars Heyes had given him and watched the stagecoach going along at a much faster clip than he'd expected. The roadway must be starting to freeze up some. He cursed softly and hurried to his horse.

Mounted, the two men rode down the hillside and away from the stage. Wheat waved his hat to Wall-eyed who was keeping watch further down the road, well hidden on a small rise behind a large, downed pine tree. From there, the one-eyed man could see both the road and Kyle, who was waiting anxiously on the far side of the wooden bridge that spanned a deep canyon cut by the Laramie River just a few miles north of the Colorado border. Kyle was watching for the signal from Wall-eyed that would let him know he could blow the structure. Wheat had chosen Wall-eyed as the lookout, despite his one eye, because John was a better hand with a gun and coldly level-headed in tough situations. There was nothing Wheat was more interested in than the safety of his own hide.

John spotted the red bandana that Heyes had tied to a bush below the road bed. There was a sharp curve in the road at this point and they could ride onto it here without being seen. Heyes had gone over and over this part of the plan, stressing the importance of not being seen until the right moment. The outlaw leader had scouted both routes himself, carefully selecting the hiding places for optimum positioning. Heck, they all knew that shotgun rider was keeping an eye out for trouble; did Heyes think they were stupid?

This road had no snow cover as it was at a lower elevation than the one Heyes was taking down, but the steep bank of the road cut on the north side was casting a large shadow, and the mud was beginning to set up in the shade, making it easier for the stagecoach to pick up speed. Heyes had said that the timing was going to be crucial. They were to meet the stage in a section of the road where it carved its way through a hillside. The walls on either side of the road would paralyze the coach much as the deep snow banks did on Heyes's job; he had said that he wanted the guard to be surprised and thrown off by their appearance; that it would help the man swallow their story.

Wheat and John picked a jog to make up some time and rode quietly along the road, each lost in his own thoughts.

Wheat snorted. Heyes over-thought everything. Ain't nothing to robbing. You rode up, stuck a gun in your victim's face, took his money, and rode off; simple as that. It didn't take no self-proclaimed genius to plan a theft. The Kid and Heyes were too particular about avoiding gunplay. Not that he wanted to be shot at, but those two pussy-footed their way through every job. He glanced at the dark-complected man who rode next to him. He'd of preferred Kyle partnering him, but he'd had no choice. No one handled dynamite as well as Kyle and he was needed at the bridge. His partner was Heyes's Plan B for this stage. It pissed him off that Heyes even felt it was necessary to have a Plan B; like he couldn't get the job done right.

John Garcia was thinking of his wife and three small children and he was wondering what they'd say when they saw how much money he wired to them this month. Heyes had been true to his word; he'd promised his men a lucrative winter and it was. John missed his family so much, but at least he was providing well for them. Maybe, after a few more jobs, he'd have enough money to buy a little place down in south Texas. Close enough to the border for his relatives to visit, but far enough to the north that the Mexican law wouldn't come across the Rio Grande for him. It'd been years since he'd pulled a job in Mexico; he wondered if the federales were even looking for him anymore.

The stage was drawing closer. Wheat was feeling skittish enough that his horse felt him tensing up and started to chomp at its bit, flipping its head up and down. The big outlaw tried to relax and hoped that his mount's anxiousness wouldn't give them away. He could see Hank in the driver's box starting to pull the team up roughly. Wheat smiled and waved to the stage, inwardly tensing again as the shotgun rider drew a bead him. His horse danced sideways underneath him and he yanked his reins causing the big bay to plant his feet, startled. John drew his well-behaved horse up quietly and waited.

The guard sitting next to Hank started yelling at Wheat and John to get off the road, but there was no place to go in this narrow stretch. Hank wrestled with the team and the doors to the coach swung open as it rolled to a stop. The two guards who were riding inside, were now resting their guns on the sills of the windows, using the doors for cover, and watching the two riders closely.

"Get outta the road and let us pass," yelled the shotgun rider, waving his weapon at the two men looking up at him. Wheat tried to smile in a friendly, open way; but, not being friendly or open, failed to reassure the guard. He watched them warily.

"Bridge is out, Mister. We had to turn back. You'd better, too," growled Wheat, staring down the man as though challenging him to question what he'd said.

"Damn it," cursed Hank, looking at the guard and trying to get his attention off of Wheat, "We'll have to find a place to turn around."

The guard kept his gun and his eyes trained on the two men waiting in the middle of the road and said, "I don't trust these two, Floyd. That big 'un's lying through his teeth. Hold your ground." Hank frowned, but kept the team still.

Wheat saw the frown appear on Hank's face. He whispered under his breath, "They ain't buyin' it. Damn Heyes. We've gotta go to Plan B." Speaking up loudly, he said, "Hey, give us a sec, and we'll get outta your way." He turned his horse around, and John wheeled his mare, both riding back in the direction they had come, feeling the guard's sights drilling holes in the middle of their backs. They'd pull off the road and let the stage continue to the bridge. Kyle could handle them there and they'd hold back, riding in after the bridge blew and the coach was stopped. Wheat would have to speed up the timetable, though. Who knows if someone would hear the blast. Hell, he hated Heyes's sneaky ideas. Wheat's horse started jigging under him and then it began hopping up and down. "Cut it out!" roared Wheat, losing his temper and striking the beast's neck. That was enough to frighten the high-strung animal into rearing.

The sudden movement startled the guard and he pulled the trigger as Hank slapped the reins down hard on his team's back hoping to unseat the man next to him and ruin his shot. The team leapt forward and the doors to the coach slammed shut on the men inside. The shot whipping past his head caused John to draw his pistol, but he held his fire not wanting to risk shooting Hank. The shotgun rider, thrown off balance, gripped the brass bar next to him with his right hand, but unfortunately, he was left-handed and his second shot found its mark.

John tumbled off his mare and rolled to a stop at the side of the road; rider-less, his horse continued galloping away. Wheat cursed and dug his spurs into his horse's flanks causing it to leap off its hind legs, also galloping away, but bucking wildly. Wheat had to hang onto his saddlehorn to stay upright and in the saddle. Hank, seeing that the job had gone to hell, held the reins with one hand, swinging at the guard with the other, knocking him over the side. The team was out of control now and the coach barreled out of the narrow slot, past Wheat's still-bucking bronco, sliding wildly from side to side. Hank was standing up; using all his strength, but the lead horses were maddened and had taken their bits in their teeth; running away with him. He saw the sharp bend coming up fast and he knew they wouldn't make it. Giving the reins a few more hard yanks, he slowed the horses slightly, but it was too late. He felt the team bank into the turn and the coach tipping onto its left wheels. Dropping the reins, he jumped and rolled as the stagecoach careened over, breaking the traces, and further stampeding the freed team. The vehicle slid a good fifty feet before coming to a standstill, its wheels still spinning.

Wheat got his horse under control and spun it around riding back to the stagecoach that was lying on its side. There was no movement from inside. He pulled up next to Hank who was sitting up slowly and staring dazedly at the coach.

"You all right?" panted Wheat.

"I think so," replied Hank shakily.

"Get your gun out and make sure them two guards are covered. I'm goin' back for John."

Wheat rode back along the road. He was nearly to the cut, when shots struck the ground in front of his horse. The already frantic gelding shied sideways nearly unseating Wheat. The guard was shooting at him from some rocks near the entrance to the slot, but he'd panicked and fired too soon; Wheat was still out of range. Pulling his horse up, he drew his gun and tried to draw down on the sniper, but the man's cover was too good. He fired off four shots in frustration and watched them ricochet harmlessly off the stone. Pausing, he pondered the alternatives. Maybe he could try skirting around to the other side and coming in from that way, but he'd be riding right at the man, trapped by the steep walls. It'd also be impossible to climb the rock face on the downhill side of the road. It was too steep and broken up. The uphill side he'd be fully exposed to the guns. Heyes had picked the perfect ambush site, only not for them. Cursing again, Wheat turned his horse and rode back to Hank, praying that John could get away on his own. Heyes was going to be pissed that he'd left a man behind, but there wasn't anything he could do.

Hank was dragging the second guard out of the coach and over to where the first man lay still. He dropped the unconscious man next to his partner and straightened up. The sudden movement caused his head to ache and he reached up, tugging his hat down to shade his eyes, as Wheat pulled up and flung himself off his horse, tying it to some sage. The big outlaw pulled several lengths of latigo from his pocket handing one to Hank. They worked quickly tying up the two men who were beginning to stir as Kyle and Wall-eyed rode towards them leading Hank's horse. "Where's John?" demanded Wall-eyed from his saddle as Kyle dismounted and ran to the coach carrying a bundle of dynamite.

Wheat stood up and wiped a hand across his brow stalling for time. He looked around for the other animals. Wall-eyed had hold of Kyle's and Hank's horses and John's mare was down the hill, grazing alongside the road. Wall-eyed and John were good friends and this wasn't going to go down well. "He got shot. I tried to go back for him, but one of the guards is holed up in there and I couldn't get to him." Wall-eyed started to spur his horse and go after his friend, but Wheat grabbed his bridle, pulling the horse around by its head.

"Let go, Wheat," threatened Wall-eyed glaring at Wheat with his milky eye.

"I can't let you go after him, Sam. It'd be suicide. That guard would have no problem pickin' all four of us off if we tried to rush him; not from where he's hidden. I already tried," said Wheat gently. "Let's get this job done. If John's alive, they'll get him to a doc quicker'n we could. We can bust him out of jail." He let the words sink in, saw Wall-eyed's shoulders slump, and he let go. "Hang onto those nags. Kyle's lit the fuse. Hank, keep an eye out for that other guard." The four outlaws backed quickly away from the stagecoach and waited. Wall-eyed held onto the horses, but kept his eyes on the road hoping to see John walking towards them.

With a thundering roar, the coach blew apart into large chunks of flying wood and metal. The horses shied away from the sound and the debris. A cloud of paper lifted into the air. Greedily, the three men on foot crowded in and grabbed for the money. What they got was newspaper; lots of little bits of newspaper. Wheat stood looking down at the newsprint he held with a stunned expression, "What the hell is this?"

His partner was poking his head inside the coach and he turned at the question. "There ain't no money. That box was stuffed with newspapers. We've been robbed."

Wheat tossed aside the paper and yelled to his men. "It was a decoy. Heyes got the money. Mount up." He rode over to John's mare and leaned out of his saddle, snatching at the reins. Leading the rider-less horse, he took off at a gallop with Kyle, Hank, and Wall-eyed close behind him.

OOOOOOOOOO

The shotgun rider waited patiently until the outlaws disappeared. He had watched, smiling, as they discovered they'd been tricked and he had bided his time. Now, he stood up and stretched his sore muscles. That fall had bruised him up pretty good but that wasn't going to stop him from going after the thieving scum. Gripping his rifle tightly, he slid his way out from behind the rocks he'd taken cover in, and started walking back to the body on the side of the road. He glanced over his shoulder and could just make out Carl and Ralph wiggling about trying to loosen their bindings. They'd have to wait a little longer; he needed to make sure this outlaw wasn't going to cause them any more trouble.

John was still unconscious when the guard rolled him over. His face was bruised from the rocks he'd collided with when he hit the ground and he was bleeding from a hole in his shoulder. The Wells Fargo man felt for a pulse and was surprised to find a steady one. He paused for a moment, trying to decide if he should simply put the man down like a rabid dog. Much as he'd like to pass on hauling this lowlife around, he couldn't justify murdering an injured man. That would make him no better than this piece of dirt. Grabbing John's shirt, the grim man pulled him onto one shoulder and struggled to stand. Taking a deep breath, the guard started walking towards the wreckage.

The other two guards were sitting up now, back to back, trying to work the latigo loose, but not having any luck. "Ralph, hold still and stop wrigglin' around," said the older one.

"Geez, Carl, you're taking my skin off here," complained the dirty blond-haired guard. They continued to bicker until they noticed the shotgun rider coming up the road with a body over his shoulder.

"Looks like Vern caught one; lucky for us. I'd sure hate to explain to the boss how come those fellas got clean away," said Carl.

Vern dropped John on the ground next to the tied men and quickly set them free. "Carl, go find the team. Ralph, get those weapons we've got stashed." He turned to see to the bleeding man's wounds. If he lived, he could tell them what gang they were dealing with.

Ralph nodded and started off towards the debris while Carl walked down the road looking for the horses. A bench from the coach lay overturned on the ground a few feet ahead of Ralph. He glanced at the bottom of it and then looked around, spotting the glint of metal against the damp soil. Walking a few feet to his west, he bent over and retrieved a Colt pistol lying at his feet. Checking that it was fully loaded, he put it into his holster, and walked back to the ruined coach. It took some doing to wrestle the shattered door open, but when he did, he leaned into the remaining half of the stage and felt around under the seat. Yanking hard, he snapped the bindings holding a Sharp's rifle tucked tightly under the bench. Smiling, he walked back to Vern.

It didn't take Carl long to discover that the six-horse team was nearby, placidly grazing the tall, dried grasses of the wet swale having been attracted by the fresh scent of the other horses. Walking slowly and quietly up to the lead gelding, Carl picked up the broken long reins, and led the animals back to his co-workers. "Found 'em right down the hill," he said coming to a halt.

"Good. Ralph, get over here and help me drag this man to the stage," said Vern, lifting John up by his shoulders while the other man lifted his legs, "Carl, pull them harnesses off the horses and fix those reins so's we can use 'em. We'll ride bareback."

"What're we gonna do, Vern?" Ralph had been with the company for a long time, but he deferred to this tough, competent man. Vern was the shotgun rider and, therefore, the leader of the guards.

"We're gonna handcuff this'n to that metal frame where he ain't gonna get loose, we'll leave him some water, and then we're going after those other four."


	10. Chapter 10

The Kid stood near the stage trying to stay warm. Heyes was inside the coach working his lock picks, alternately picking up and discarding each one. Lobo was guarding the entrance to the box canyon they were hiding out in while Gully hovered over the cook pot dangling from a tripod over a hot fire. A satisfied chortle drew attention to the dark-haired outlaw leader who was crouched inside the stage. It had taken him nearly two hours, but Heyes had finally opened the Chubb's lock. He'd insisted on trying and he'd plenty of time to work at it while they waited for Wheat and his men to arrive. After reading about the supposedly unpick-able lock being opened by an American, Alfred Charles Hobbs, during the Great Exhibition of 1851 in London; he'd been itching to get his hands on one. This was the first one he'd come across and he was almost as pleased by the challenge of the lock as he was about the money it secured.

Curry walked over and leaned in through the coach's window to watch as Heyes slowly opened the strongbox. It was his partner's favorite part of a job, knowing that he had won and was finally facing the fruits of many hours of careful planning. Heyes rocked back on his heels and exhaled, staring blankly into the chest. The Kid, blocked from seeing inside the strongbox by the lid Heyes was holding, asked, "How much did we get?"

Heyes looked up at him with an odd expression on his face and reached into the metal-clad chest pulling out a bundle of newspapers, and holding it up for his cousin to see. "Looks like about two dollars' worth."

Curry stared at the bundle, glanced at his partner, and stared harder at the bundle. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yep, last week's edition of the Rocky Mountain News." Heyes slammed the lid shut and smiled at the Kid's shocked expression. "Wells probably used this one as a decoy and Wheat's gonna be braying that he pulled the whole job."

"Let him bray. If he hauls in forty grand, he'll have earned the right."

OOOOOOOOOO

"What happened back there, Wheat?" asked Kyle as he drew alongside his partner. The outlaws were almost five miles from the botched job and were in a comfortable lope, eating up ground, but not taxing their horses too much. Hank and Wall-eyed rode a few paces behind them.

"Heyes's damn fool plan didn't work; that's what happened," hollered Wheat over the sound of the hoofbeats. He was still upset at leaving John behind and furious that he had failed as a leader. "We nearly got our heads blowed off going after a decoy. I bet Heyes's braggin' right now that he got away with all the money."

"Yeah, but he did."

Wheat scowled at his friend and pulled his horse to a jog. "It just don't seem fair; me and John get shot at while Heyes and the Kid get the glory."

"You'll get your cut just the same."

"Maybe I want some respect, too. Money ain't everythin', Kyle." Wall-eyed and Hank rode up behind them and slowed to a jog, too.

"It is to me. Why'd the job go south, Wheat?" Kyle had been stationed at the bridge and had missed the fiasco of a robbery until he'd ridden in to blow the strongbox. His curiosity was getting the better of him now despite the deep red color Wheat's face was turning.

"'Cause that heap of dogmeat he's setting on kicked up a fuss," offered Wall-eyed.

"That sorry excuse for horseflesh oughta be butchered for what he done to John," snapped Hank. Wheat glared at him and he glared back. Hank rode on ahead with Wall-eyed, leaving the two partners behind.

Kyle couldn't believe that the whole job had been brought down by one hair-brained horse and he was angry that John got caught, maybe killed, because of it. "I told you not to buy him, didn't I? I said he was all looks, but no brains, didn't I? But, no, you had to have somethin' flashy like Heyes's mare. Weren't you the one who always said he was a damn fool for ridin' that high-strung filly? Who's the fool now?"

Wheat felt hurt by Kyle's recriminations and grew angrier with shame and frustration, clamping his jaw tightly. He couldn't justify what happened and knew he'd never hear the end of it from Heyes or the boys. He'd thought that this job would make the gang look at him differently—well, they were looking at him differently all right. Just not the way he'd hoped. Betraying him once again, his handsome bay gelding began to jig sideways and shake its head. Kyle shook his head, too, and rode on to catch up with Hank and Wall-eyed.

OOOOOOOOOO

Vern stood up from studying the tracks. Turning to his horse, he grabbed a hank of mane and levered his elbow into the horse's shoulder using the bony structure to vault onto its back. Picking up the cutoff reins, he looked over his shoulder at his two men. "They can't be more than an hour ahead, but they're making up ground now the road's leveled out. My guess is that we won't catch up to them until they stop for the night; if they stop for the night."

Ralph groaned and looked at Carl. "I don't know about you, but if I have to ride bareback until nightfall I'm gonna have to get me a job singin' in the ladies' choir."

OOOOOOOOOO

As the sun started to drift to the horizon, a ray cut through the hole in the roof of the shattered stagecoach and fell across John's eyes. He groaned softly and blinked several times, trying to regain consciousness. His mind began to clear and the pain crowded in; so did the memory of the bullet slamming into him. His head ached terribly. He opened his eyes and squinted into the glare, ducking his head, and pulling at his wound. Another groan escaped his lips, and he looked at the drying blood on his right shoulder. There was a thick cotton pad covering the wound and held in place by his shredded shirt. His left arm was tightly handcuffed to the frame of the ruined coach. By his left thigh, there rested two canteens and a half-filled bottle of cheap, rotgut whiskey.

Using his good hand, he grabbed a canteen and unscrewed the top, drinking greedily before closing it. He lifted the whiskey and splashed some over the wound as best he could, took a drink to dull the pain, and looked around again. Several pieces of jerky were sitting atop the broken bench he leaned against. He dropped his head back, closed his eyes, and sighed. At least his captors had been humane. It could have been much worse.

His eyes popped open again. They'd left him here alone; the three guards must've gone after the gang. He struggled briefly with his cuffs and then gave it up; too weak to be of any help even if he could get loose. He'd save his strength. Someone would be along to collect him sooner or later. John let his eyes drift shut again and his thoughts wandered to his little casa south of Juarez and the family that waited there for his return.

OOOOOOOOOO

Gully stirred the pot over the open fire. He'd brought some root vegetable and beans with him to put together a makeshift stew. All it needed was some meat to go in it and give it some flavor, but Heyes had forbidden him and the Kid to go hunting. The boss didn't want them firing off their guns and giving away their hiding place. He guessed it made sense, but he hated to put forth less than his best effort. The rest of the boys were sure to be hungry when they got in and Gully doubted they'd be happy with a meatless stew. He glanced over at the Kid and Heyes who were sitting on some rocks by the horses playing a game of cards.

Setting down his spoon, the gray-haired cook sat down on a stump he'd dragged over to the fire. The vegetables were stewing nicely, as was he. He was still smarting from having to ride into the middle of a robbery. Hmph. Heyes had promised he'd only be cooking for the gang. He'd told the boss he didn't want to have no part of thieving, but that hadn't held any water when the gang came up short-handed. When push came to shove, Heyes had called in his debt and he'd paid it.

Staring into the flames, he remembered back to first time he'd set eyes on Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry. He hadn't paid them no notice when they'd walked through the batwing doors of the smoky saloon on that backstreet in Wichita. He should've. There was something about them, but he didn't realize until later what it was; they weren't your typical scruffy cowpokes. There'd been something special about these two. Not their good looks. No, that weren't it at all. It was the way they'd walked in the door. All confident and relaxed, not trail weary or shifty-eyed like so many of the men he'd served. They'd been joking and kidding around like they didn't have a care in the world. At first, he'd thought they might be new to that part of the country, unaware of the dangers, but one look at their well-worn cartridge belts and their tied down guns had him re-thinking that. He'd hardly paid any mind at all to the scraggly group of men that followed them in. He wished he had.

The Kid had set right to sparking LouLou, the prettiest gal in the place, while his partner had dropped into an empty seat at one of the poker tables. It wasn't long before the blond outlaw had followed little Lou upstairs, leaving his friend alone. Only Heyes hadn't been alone, had he? He'd had five dangerous men watching his back while his partner was otherwise occupied. How come he'd missed that? If he'd seen the attention focused on the smiley dark-haired man, he might've figured out what he was dealing with.

Gully absent-mindedly rubbed at the scar on his forearm. The puckered skin felt rough under his hand and, for just a moment, he could still smell the burning flesh; his flesh. He'd been minding the bar for Will who'd had to run home for a short time to see to his sick wife. Usually, he'd of been out back in the cookhouse away from all the liveliness of the saloon. That's what he'd liked best about his work, the quiet and solitude. He doubted he'd ever get used to crowds again, not after the war. Once in a while, though, he'd find himself behind the bar serving up a boisterous bunch. He'd try to relax, but he couldn't. It was always too much for him and he knew his jitters showed.

That night, the drovers from the Lazy H had been whooping it up in town after a long drive and they were as drunk as skunks. Gully had known who they were and he'd known enough to steer clear of them. Tough men all the time; when they were drunk, they were bullies. They'd often made sport of him while he tried to do his job. He wasn't tough, he was a cook. That's what he'd done in the war when his friends were out dying horrible deaths. He'd taken pride in caring for the ones who came back the only way he knew how. He'd never been a fighter or any good with a gun, but he was a good cook and that's what he'd be 'til his dying day.

The cowboys had just finished losing most of their money to the dark-haired fella wearing that silver-trimmed hat and had bellied up to the bar trying to drown the rest of their sorrows and all of their common sense when it happened. He'd been hurrying to deliver another round of beers to the six drovers; had all the mugs in his hands, when he'd turned too quickly and tripped over the wooden plank that ran the length of the floor behind the bar. It'd been meant to keep the barkeep's feet dry during a busy night, but the damn thing never was more than a hazard. The drinks had gone flying, hitting the bar, and shattering the glasses, sending shards and beer over three of the Lazy H's men; cutting one of them up pretty good. Gully had pulled himself off the ground where he'd fallen and up to the bar top. Staring down at him had been six pairs of angry eyes then all hell had broken loose. He'd nearly been pulled out of his shoes as they dragged him over the bar, swearing and hollering. He'd tried to fight them, but he wasn't a big man and there'd been too many of them. Before he'd even realized what they were doing, they'd dragged him over to the big pot-bellied woodstove and pressed his forearm down on the sizzling iron. Gully had heard them laughing over his screams, joking that he was the cook so they was gonna cook him. The big, ugly drover, Blake, who'd held him down, smiling the whole time, had let go of him suddenly and stiffened up; and that's when the place had gone dead quiet.

Gully could still hear the light tone underscored by menace in Heyes's voice and him saying, "You boys are getting between me and my dinner and I'm damn hungry. Think you could see your way clear to letting my friend here go and finish my meal?"

Blake had turned and found a Schofield pointed at his nose. He'd looked past the barrel eyeing the slighter man behind it. "Butt out, mister. Can't you see we're dealin' with one problem already?" The cowboy had turned away from the stranger and nodded to his friends who let go of the cook. Gully had clutched at his arm and watched the drama unfolding as avidly as the rest of the patrons. The other drovers had gathered around Heyes and Blake, drawing their guns.

Heyes had smiled wickedly at the bigger man. "Mister, I think your problems just got a whole lot worse."

"Yeah, well, I ain't the one with five guns pointed at me," Blake had let loose with a mean little laugh.

"You might wanta take another look around." Gully had turned towards the twangy voice's owner and found a big, mustache man standing right next to him. Four other men had crept up behind the cowboys and everyone in the bar heard the clicks of five guns being cocked.

The drover had looked at the men behind his friends and then turned back to Heyes with a nasty grin. "Looks like we've got ourselves a Mexican stand-off."

Things had gotten even tenser until the sound of footsteps on the stair treads had rung throughout the hushed room. "Geez, Heyes, can't I leave you alone for a minute?" All eyes had turned towards the blond-haired man walking casually down the steps.

"Sorry, Kid, but you've been gone fifteen minutes. I reckoned you'd be all done by now," Heyes had chuckled.

"Very funny." The Kid stepped up next to his partner, keeping his right hand on the butt of that big Colt .45 he carried.

Gully recalled the moment it all fell into place for the big drover. The man's eyes had rounded like dinner plates and he'd started to stammer. "K..k..id? You're Hannibal Heyes? The D..d..devil's Hole gang?" The other drovers had dropped their guns and raised their hands as he said it. Blake had slowly raised his, too. "We didn't mean nothin' by it. We were just teachin' old Gully here a thing or two about servin'."

"Seems to me it meant something to old Gully," Heyes had said coldly as he gestured for the cook to come to him and Gully had; simple as that. He'd stood between the two outlaw leaders as though they were the closest of comrades and, damn it, he'd enjoyed the fear that was pouring off Blake. The man was a bully and this hadn't been the first time he'd had a go at Gully and it wasn't going to be the last either. Blake planned to make him pay for this humiliation; probably permanently. Gully had seen it written in his eyes; so had Heyes.

"Kyle, get their guns," Heyes had ordered, reaching into his pockets and pulling out several large bills, dropping them onto the table next to him. "This ought to cover the cost of new ones so you've got no call to hold a grudge against Gully over this. We're square, right?"

Blake didn't say anything, he'd just stared at the money and back at Gully, who'd spoken up, "Keep your money, Mister Heyes. I reckon I'll be clearing out of here anyway. Blake here, ain't the forgive and forget kind."

"That so? Then maybe you better ride along with us for a while, just to make sure you get to where you are going," the Kid had said.

Heyes had scooped up the bills and tucked them away. "Guess I'll be keeping these and your guns after all." He had holstered his gun with a smile and tipped his hat to Blake, "It's been a pleasure."

The Devil's Hole gang had kept them covered as they backed out of the bar and off the sidewalk. Heyes had mounted first and held out his hand to Gully who had hesitated taking the outlaw's hand for a second. He didn't have much in the way of worldly possessions, but what he had was stored under his cot out in the backroom of the cookhouse. It wasn't worth his life, though. Reaching up, he'd grabbed Heyes's hand and allowed himself to be swung up behind the infamous man. The powerful horse under them had leapt into a gallop and the timid cook had found himself fleeing town with the Devil's Hole gang. Blake had quickly raised a posse and the gang had been chased nearly to Devil's Hole before they'd shaken it.

Gully had never meant to join up with the outlaws; only to make his getaway with them, but they'd stuck their necks out for him when they could've left him to his fate and, for that, he was grateful. Heyes had offered to let him hang out at the Hole until things died down and that had been his final mistake. Once those boys saw how good he could cook, they'd begged him to stay. It had suited him, too. He liked the Hole. Most of the winter it was just him and one or two of the other boys; there was the times, too, the gang rode out to do their work; he'd have the Hole all to himself. Yep, it had been a good enough life and he'd been able to tell himself that he was just doing a job like any other normal citizen. Only he couldn't do that anymore, now could he?

"Riders coming," yelled Lobo. Gully roused himself from his reverie and gave the stew another stir then walked over to watch Wheat and the rest of the gang ride in. He noticed that John was missing and so did the two outlaw leaders. The horses nickered to their friends as the men dismounted. Heyes and the Kid waited for things to settle down, then Heyes got up and walked over to Wheat who was fussing over his gear, trying to put off facing the younger outlaw.

"Where's John?"

Wheat savagely yanked at his horse's cinch, and turned on Heyes. "He got shot. I had to leave him."

Heyes measured Wheat's anger and knew that the man was hurting over losing John. He gently asked, "Is he dead?"

Wheat was surprised by the kind tone and the air leaked out of his lungs. "I don't know. I tried to go back for him, but he'd gone down in the slot and one of the guards had holed up in some rocks. I couldn't get to him."

"What happened?"

"My piece of crap horse started buckin', that's what happened. Startled the damn guard and he started shootin'," said Wheat defensively. He braced himself for Heyes's temper to flare and the humiliations to start.

Instead, Heyes offered him sympathy. "Could've happened to any of us, Wheat. I know you wouldn't leave him behind unless you had to. If he's alive, we'll get to him." Heyes put his hand on Wheat's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He knew there was nothing worse than the feeling of having left a man behind. "You got the rest of them away safely. You did what you had to do. How'd the rest of it go? Did you get the money?" He felt Wheat tense again under his hand.

"No, I didn't get the money. There wasn't any money to get. You sent us after a decoy."

Heyes clamped his arm around Wheat's forearm and steered him away from the others and out of ear shot. "It was stuffed with newspapers?"

"Yeah, it was stuffed with newspapers," Wheat paused and then narrowed his eyes at his leader, "How'd you know what it was stuffed with?"

"'Cause that's what ours was stuffed with," hissed Heyes.

Wheat stared at him, waiting for him to laugh before realizing that this wasn't another one of Hannibal Heyes's stupid jokes. "You mean to tell me that both those stagecoaches were empty?"

"Looks that way, don't it?" Heyes watched the emotions flit across his lieutenant's face; shock, followed by anger, finishing up with resignation.

The mustached outlaw ran his hand over his face. "This ain't gonna go down well with the rest of the boys, you know."

"Believe me, I know," sighed Heyes, slumping slightly.

"We'll tell them together," said Wheat, squaring his shoulders, "After all, we were the leaders."


	11. Chapter 11

"Thanks, Wheat, I appreciate the support." Heyes said without looking at the big man walking beside him. Carlson could be a real pain in the butt sometimes, but he was good at his job and, when push came to shove, he was there when you needed him. Heyes knew that Wheat took every opportunity to run him down to the other men trying to bolster his chances to become leader, but he also knew that with Wheat yammering at the men about a change of leadership, there'd be no tolerance for someone else to make a bid; maybe someone who'd deal with the competition in a more direct manner.

"Heyes, there's more riders coming," yelled Lobo from his perch in the rocks besides the entrance to the narrow canyon.

Heyes broke into a run towards the entrance as Wheat struggled to keep up.

"How many? Is it a posse?" barked Heyes to his guard as he skidded to a stop.

"There's three of 'em and they're all riding bareback," laughed Lobo from the rock outcropping overhead.

Heyes whipped his head around to watch Wheat coming to a stop next to him. "You left them horses?" Gone was the sympathetic demeanor of a few minutes ago, Heyes was irate. He scrambled up the rocks and pulled the binoculars from Lobo's hands. After a long look, he lowered the binoculars. "Lobo, keep an eye on them. Don't fire unless you know they're heading this way and, if you do, make sure you shoot at their feet. I don't want anyone hurt." Lobo nodded his agreement and Heyes climbed back down to his disgraced lieutenant.

Wheat stood dumbfounded. He'd forgotten all about the team that had run off. How had those three found them so fast? Damn it, what could he say for himself? He'd been so shaken by the turmoil of the robbery that he'd wanted to hurry away from it and had never given a thought to the team. None of them had. He'd spent the whole ride being angry at his boss for sending them after a decoy, but Heyes would never have made the kind of rookie mistake Wheat had. "The horses had bolted."

"And you never thought it'd be worthwhile to know how far they'd gone?" Heyes snarled at him, leaning into Wheat, fury etched across his face. "Get the men saddled up, you're riding out."

"What about you?" asked Wheat meekly.

"The guards are looking for the four men who robbed them. They won't be expecting eight of us. You'll take your men out of here and draw those three off. They'll go after you. The Kid, Lobo, and Gully can help me break John out-if he's still alive." Heyes saw his verbal punch land and he started to walk away. The Kid was already sending the men to their horses and Gully was tossing out the stew and preparing to pack up camp.

"No."

Heyes stopped cold and wheeled on the bigger man, his hands curling into fists. "What did you say?"

Wheat couldn't sustain eye contact, not when he felt so ashamed. "I said no, Heyes. It's my fault John got shot, it's my fault there's a posse at our door, I ain't cuttin' and runnin' away. I want to make this right."

The fists unclenched and the dark-haired leader ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. He never was one to kick a dog when it was down and he appreciated Wheat owning up to his responsibilities. "All right; you and Kyle stay with us, and Lobo can take the men home. Let him know the plan and make sure they do a good job of taking those three with them."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet, Wheat, wait until we have John back safely."

OOOOOOOOOO

"Ride north outta here and follow that old game trail that cuts over the backside of the pass. You ought to be able to lose them there," instructed Heyes. Wheat and Kyle had gone to fetch the rest of the horses from the highline and Hank had taken Lobo's place as the lookout.

"Got it," said Lobo, picking up his reins and preparing to move out. Hank and Wall-eyed were already mounted and Gully was tying off his tripod onto the back of his saddle. He was grumbling and cursing under his breath, but his companions ignored him. He gave the latigo one last tug and picked up his horse's reins. Mounting, he brought up the rear.

Heyes stepped back and watched the horses and riders surge towards the narrow exit. The ground under his feet trembled with their passing as he watched them pour out of the canyon and gallop madly down the snow-covered hill. The sound of them faded away quickly and he followed after them on foot with his rifle in hand to where the Kid was hidden atop a small hill with a view of the plain below. Heyes's boots displaced several small rocks on his way up to his partner and they clattered noisily down the slope. The Kid glanced at him as he settled beside him. "Sure-footed as a mountain goat, ain't you? Think you could make a little more noise?"

"Really? You think they'd hear me from that far away? They'll know soon enough where we are, if we start shooting at 'em."

"They'll see the boys any minute. You ready?" said the Kid, lifting his rifle and watching for the three guards to appear.

"Ready." Heyes aimed down the scope of his rifle drawing a bead on the lead rider.

A faint yell floated up the hill to where the two outlaw leaders lay on their bellies. Lobo and the others had reached the valley floor and emerged almost a mile ahead of the posse. The three guards instantly spurred their horses off the road to pursue the outlaws and the Kid grinned, turning to his cousin, "Now, that was just too easy."

"Not too easy for them, look," pointed Heyes. The horses and riders were leaping and jumping through the heavily sage-covered ground at a dead run. One of the guards' horses dodged sideways to avoid a big sagebrush bush and unseated its rider. The man desperately clung to the mane for a second or two as the horse jumped away from him, but without a saddle to cling to he soon slid off. Heyes couldn't help laughing as the man fell on his face into the muddy soil and came up wiping dirt out of his eyes. One of the other two riders pulled up, but the first man stood up and gestured to him to keep going. Seeing that his friend was okay, the second guard spurred his mount and surged after the third man who was relentlessly charging after the fleeing outlaws.

Heyes started to stand up and the Kid grabbed his arm, hissing, "Where are you going?"

Yanking his arm away, Heyes started back down the hill, "I'm going to have a little chat with our guest. I've got some questions I want answers to."

"Wait up. I'm coming with you."

OOOOOOOOOO

Ralph doggedly followed the muddy tracks of his horse, cursing the stupid beast under his breath and sliding on the slick ground once when his legs betrayed him. He was so sore from the long bareback ride that he could hardly walk and he felt his stiffened back going out. He spotted the bay mare calmly nibbling some twigs down in a brushy wash. Too tired to pick his way down the hill, he sat and slipped on his muddy seat towards her. She snorted as he came to a stop and spooked, stepping a few yards away. "Take it easy, sweetheart. Ol' Ralph's just gonna catch you, that's all."

Offended by his unorthodox approach, the mare continued snorting and backing away. She jogged off a few more yards and blew out through her nostrils, arching her neck at him as though she was teasing him as he walked towards her. "You raggedy whore! Stand up there and let me catch your ass." She tossed her head coquettishly and backed off again. Losing his temper, Ralph ran at her, arms flailing, and yelling growls at the top of his lungs. The startled beast backed into a clump of bushes which further scared her and she planted her feet, mulishly staring at him. Ralph grabbed a trailing long rein and hauled her out of the bushes towards him. "You stupid cow. Stand up here while I get on you." He moved her over next to a large rock and stepped up on it grabbing her mane, but stopped cold at the press of a gun barrel to his sore back.

"That ain't no way to speak to a lady, mister."

Ralph turned and looked at the smiling blue-eyed man holding a steady pistol on him. He let go of the animal's rein, slowly raised his hands, and stepped off the rock trying to judge the amount of murderous intent in those deceptively friendly-looking eyes.

"What's your name?" asked the blond man.

"Ralph, Ralph Means." Was his luck so bad that he was going to be robbed twice in one day?

"Well, Ralph, my partner here wants to talk to you so why don't you put your arms down. You can drop your gun, too, if you don't mind." The blond man shifted his glance from Ralph to a point just beyond the horse. The guard gently laid his gun on the ground and straightened up following the blond's gaze. He saw a dark-haired man wearing a silver-studded hat emerge from cover.

"Hello, Ralph. Come on over here and make yourself comfortable," offered the man wearing the black hat, as he sat down on a rock and gestured to the larger one across from him.

Ralph walked over and stopped in front of the new man who was also smiling real friendly-like. At least, this man wasn't holding a gun on him. These two didn't seem like crooks; he sure hoped they weren't. "I ain't got no money, mister, but I'm chasing some men who've got plenty. Me and my friends could use another pair of guns and I guar-un-tee you my boss at Wells Fargo would give you a healthy reward if you saw fit to help us." He sank down onto the boulder and wiped his brow again. The mud was seeping into his eyes and making them water.

Heyes grinned at the Kid who chuckled and shook his head. Looking back at the guard, Heyes said, "Ralph, I'm afraid we're going to have to decline your generous offer."

Ralph's heart fell as he accepted that he might've misjudged the situation and his life could be coming to a violent, unexpected end.

"Now, Ralph, there ain't no call to get all hang dog on me. We just have previous plans, that's all," Heyes reached out to kindly pat the guard on his knee. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his partner emptying the bullets out of Ralph's pistol.

The Kid walked over to Ralph and handed him his gun. "I took the shells out; a man can't be too careful out here. You'll want to reload before you go too far."

It took the poor man a minute to realize that he wasn't going to die. The two men before him were watching him with some concern while the news sunk in. He slowly put his gun away and then braced both his hands on his knees, looking straight at Heyes. "If you don't plan on killing me, what are you plannin' to do with me?"

"Talk. I just want to talk to you. Is that all right, Ralph?" smiled the dark-haired man, formidable dimples creasing his face.

"Mister, you can talk a blue streak to me if you plan on lettin' me live."

A groan from the blond fella distracted Ralph for a second and he glanced at the man before looking back at the smiler in front of him.

"Don't mind my partner here; he's a man of few words. So few in fact, that I usually know what he's going to say before it crawls out of his mouth; makes conversation kind of humdrum. That's why I'm real glad to meet up with you, Ralph. Now you, you look like a man with plenty to say. Working for Wells Fargo, are you? That must be right interesting and I want to hear all about it. But first I've got to ask, what are you doing way out here?" Heyes paused, and held up a hand as Ralph's mouth flopped open. "No, don't tell me. Let me guess. You're a scout looking for a new route, right? No, that can't be it, 'cause you were riding that blinkered nag bareback. Must've been an accident; you were riding on the stage and there was an accident. You're going for help, right? That's it, isn't it? Yep, it had to be an accident."

Ralph listened to the torrent of words with a blank expression. He'd follow the first few words all right, but they'd come at him so fast and furiously that somewhere along the way he'd been left in the verbal dust. He could see the man was waiting for answers, but he was at a loss on where to start and too confused to wonder about whom it was doing the asking. "We was robbed, mister."

"Robbed?! Well, I'll be."

"I'm a stagecoach guard. We was carryin' a payroll; big one, too. The boss is gonna be real mad unless Vern and Carl can get it back."

"Vern and Carl? Where are they?"

"We was followin' those filthy outlaws' trail when my horse threw me. There was four of them that done it." He sure hoped that Vern and Carl would be all right taking on that many men without his help.

"How long have you been chasing them?"

"We just caught sight of 'em again, but we've been trailin' them for almost twelve miles."

"That so? Well, good luck to you." Heyes stood up abruptly and dusted off the seat of his pants, smiling at the Kid who was gathering up the reins of the loose horse.

"Hey, watcha doin' with my horse?" Ralph stood up.

Heyes laughed, "We're just taking her down the road a ways; about twelve miles or so."

"You can't do that. That's horse theft!" cried Ralph, indignantly.

"We ain't stealing her, Ralph, we're just relocating her," answered the blond man.

The dark-haired man shoved two fingers in his mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle. He watched the far ridge for several minutes before turning back to Ralph who had just realized he'd been duped. These weren't good men, not altogether bad, but not good by a longshot.

"We'll be on our way here shortly. I'm leaving you a canteen, some jerky, and a blanket; gets cold around here after dark. Now, Ralph, I can see that you're a reasonable man. You'll understand me when I tell you that it would be best for you to rest up here before your long walk. Have a little dinner, get some shut-eye, right?"

Ralph nodded.

"Good. I don't expect our paths to cross again, but I sure enjoyed talking to you."

Ralph watched speechlessly as the two men disappeared from his view, leading away his mare.


	12. Chapter 12

"That wasn't one of your longer conversations, partner," snorted Kid Curry walking alongside Heyes who was leading Ralph's mare towards the box canyon hideout.

"Long enough; old Ralph wasn't much of a conversationalist."

"Well, it's not like you gave him much of a chance. Man looked like he'd been pole-axed by a pair of lips."

"He told me what I needed to know."

"How's that?"

"For starters, he didn't know that he was risking his life for a load of week-old newspapers. That might've made him and his friends a little less likely to chase off after those filthy outlaws he was yakking on about."

"_He_ was yakking on?"

Heyes ignored the gibe and continued, "I learned that Wheat hit the stage at the right spot; twelve miles from here and sixteen or so miles from Laramie."

"So?"

"So, that means when the stage didn't arrive like it was supposed to, the stationmaster would've wired the Laramie office, which is closest, and that means Wells probably sent out a posse from Laramie three hours ago. They would've made it to the stage by now and that means that they've found John. Now, if we're lucky, he's alive and on his way to a doctor or he's alive and they've got him with them. Either way, we're gonna come across that new posse sometime tonight."

"You know, Heyes, for a man of so many words, you sure can read a lot into somebody else's few."

"Thanks, Kid."

"I ain't sure that's a compliment, partner."

Heyes laughed and threw his arm over his partner's shoulders. He was glad to see Wheat and Kyle riding out to meet them. They had heard his whistled signal and were ready to go. Good, he was ready, too. He hated walking in these boots; they pinched his feet something terrible, but he couldn't complain. He had once and the Kid had been merciless in pointing out that it was his own vanity torturing him, not the boots.

OOOOOOOOOO

"How many do you see?" whispered Kyle. He and Wheat were stretched out on the frozen ground atop a small rise and were watching the flickering campfire below them. The Kid had spotted the light from a mile or so back and Heyes had split them up to approach the camp. The small outlaw couldn't see his two leaders, but he knew they were out there in the dark keeping him covered and also watching the men gathered around the small fire on this cold night.

"I'm countin' fourteen men. Looks like they came equipped, too. That's too much firepower for the four of us. Let's go." Wheat slowly pushed away from the ground keeping his head low and melted into the darkness with Kyle close behind.

They ran into the Kid and Heyes on their way back to the horses. No one said a word until they had mounted and ridden out of earshot of the posse. Curry pulled his gelding up in front of the others.

"Did you see John?" asked Wheat, pensively, pulling up his own horse.

"He's not with them," snapped Heyes, not pausing, instead riding on past his three friends.

Curry watched his partner's back retreating into the darkness, knowing that Heyes was upset that he hadn't found John with the posse. His partner was worried about what this could mean and so was he. Despite his own misgivings, he said, "It don't mean he's dead, Wheat. If he was, they'd probably be dragging the body along with them. They most likely wouldn't leave the body and risk losing a reward."

"But John ain't wanted. Least ways not here in America," said Kyle.

"That's so, but they don't know that and won't until they check the wanted posters. I'd bet you good money that most of those men didn't join up with the posse out of the goodness of their hearts; they're looking for reward money." Kid Curry was still looking down the road in the direction his partner had taken.

Wheat nodded, but failed to be relieved by the Kid's logic. He had to find John, dead or alive.

"So what are we gonna do about the posse?" asked Kyle.

"Nothing; Lobo ought to have lost those other men by now. This bunch'll be following a cold trail by the time they start out in the morning. Even if they managed to follow the gang's trail back to the Hole, the best they'll do is figure out it was us that did the stealing." Curry nudged his gelding into a walk and the other two horses fell into step next to him. "We'll check the stage first. If John's not there, I reckon we'll head into Laramie and check out the jail."

They trailed Heyes by a small distance until they reached the wreckage of the stagecoach. Heyes stopped some yards short of the smashed vehicle and waited on his horse for his men to catch up. Curry rode up alongside his partner. "John inside?"

"I haven't looked yet." Haunted brown eyes met understanding blue ones.

The Kid swung his leg over the saddle and stepped down, handing his reins to Wheat. "C'mon, let's take a look."

Heyes nodded, dismounting, and handing his reins over, too. Wheat wouldn't look him in the eye. Heyes knew how bad the man felt about leaving John behind. He hated this part of being a leader. Losing a man was hard enough, but knowing you had a hand in sending him to his death was heartbreaking. He knew that all his men rode with him willingly, but that didn't help much when things went wrong; and they went wrong a lot in this business.

Heyes followed slightly behind his partner, grateful for his support. A pang of guilt gnawed at him as he remembered the heavy-handed way he'd bullied Gully into riding with them on this job despite knowing the man wanted no part of it; he hadn't come willingly. He owed the cook an apology as soon as they got back to the Hole. He'd never before strong-armed a man into coming with him, and he wouldn't do it again; it could've easily been Gully they were searching for. Heyes could plan all he wanted, try and figure out all the angles, but so much of what happened was out of his or anyone else's control. Wheat's job was living proof of that and the realization caused all of Heyes's anger to leach out of him. Instead, his stomach fell as the Kid pulled open the broken door of the stage, peering inside the coach. He held his breath.

"It's empty," said the Kid. Heyes looked blankly at his partner who reached over and squeezed his shoulder gently. "He ain't here, Heyes. They must've taken him back to town."

"Good…that's good. Thanks," mumbled Heyes, feeling a weight lifting from his heart. No posse would've split men off to take a dead man in; John had to be alive. "Wheat, Kyle, bring the horses. John's on his way to Laramie," he called back to the two men holding the horses. He heard Kyle cheer and saw Wheat's relieved smile appear out of the darkness as they brought over the animals. He looked up at the big man when Wheat handed him his reins, and said, "Don't worry, we'll get him back."

Carlson looked away and choked out, "I know we will."

OOOOOOOOOO

It was mid-morning when the four tired riders reached the outskirts of Laramie. They split up into pairs for the ride in; Wheat and Kyle from the west and Heyes and the Kid riding in from the north. It wasn't safe to ride alone in these parts and two men together was a common enough sight; four men were sure to get attention.

Kyle rode with Wheat to the saloon to pick up the gossip about the robberies while Heyes and his partner rode past the sheriff's office. They would all try to find out where John was and then meet up at the saloon. There was a small crowd of men standing on the sidewalk outside of the jail and as the two outlaw leaders rode by they could hear bits and pieces of the conversation.

"Four of 'em got away. Sheriff's got one in the jail, but he's shot up. Doc's in there with him now."

"That so? I heard that Wells sent those stages out empty. Lucky for the guards, them outlaws didn't shoot 'em dead over the disappointment."

"My brother-in-law, Ralph, is one of those guards. He said they were takin' a big payroll to Rawlins."

The voices faded as the two men rode up the street. Heyes pulled up a few doors down from the sheriff's office in front of a general store. He dismounted and waited on the sidewalk for his partner to join him. Curry stretched and made a show of knocking the trail dirt off his sheepskin coat. Pasting a smile on his face, Heyes turned away and walked into the general store. The clerk was up on a small ladder restocking the shelves, but called down to his customer, "Mornin', sir, what can I help you with?"

Heyes picked up a can of beans from the box at the foot of the ladder and peered at its label. "Just picking up a few supplies before me and my partner head out again." He sat the beans down on the counter and walked along the shelves, picking up a sack of coffee and a small bag of red licorice.

The clerk looked at the smiling, dark-haired man with the tied-down gun and then glanced out the window at the other man lounging against a post. He, too, sported a big hogleg. The man came down the ladder and passed by Heyes going behind the counter and resting his hand on the sawed-off shotgun he kept there. It was filled with buckshot. "Passing through, huh?"

"Yep. Looks like something big's going on at the sheriff's office. What's up?" Heyes felt the change in the man's demeanor and forced himself to turn his back on the clerk and walk over to a stack of blankets. He pulled one out from lower down in the pile and spent a moment straightening the stack. The clerk relaxed slightly at his considerateness.

"Two stage coaches were held up yesterday. Sheriff's got one of the outlaws locked up in the jail waiting for him to heal up enough to tell him who he's riding with."

Heyes put the blanket on the counter, too, as the door opened and a small red-headed boy walked in with a stack of newspapers under his arm. He dropped them on the floor by the counter and grinned at the clerk, who held out a dollar and a few pieces of horehound candy. "Thanks, Jimmy. Say hi to your pa for me.

"Will do, Mr. Guthrie," said the boy, walking out as quickly as he had come in.

Heyes wandered over and picked up a paper, scanning the front page. The lead story was about the robbery and there was much speculation that it might be the Devil's Hole gang as they were known to be in the area, but the reporter argued that, while rumors surfaced from time to time disputing it, it was a well-known fact that Hannibal Heyes was dead and in his grave four months past. It went on to say that it was also accepted knowledge that Kid Curry was incapable of planning such a daring robbery. He chuckled and laid the paper down with his other purchases. He couldn't wait to see the Kid's face when he read it. Heyes reached into his jacket and pulled out his billfold. "Two stages? Ain't that kind of ambitious?"

It was the clerk's turn to chuckle. "Might be ambitious, but it didn't do those thieves any good. Weren't nothing on those stages but last week's newspapers."

"It'd take someone awful smart to come up with the idea of robbing two coaches at once. Less, of course, it was more than one gang. Wouldn't that be something?" Heyes was enjoying this.

"It was the same gang all right, the robberies were nearly identical. 'Cept one of them worked just fine and the other one was a hellacious mess!"

Heyes's eyes twinkled brightly as he laughed with the clerk. "That so? I wonder what gang it was. The paper there seemed to think it might be the Devil's Hole gang. Maybe Heyes ain't dead after all."

"Well, if he's dead, he'll be rolling over in his grave right now knowing his men screwed this job up so bad." Having shared a laugh with his customer, Mr. Guthrie let go of his shotgun and began to ring up the purchases. It was a good thing he did, because he missed the look on Heyes's face. "That'll be eleven dollars and fifty-nine cents, Mister. Where're you heading out to?"

"Somewhere with warm weather and cold beer."

The clerk counted out the change and added a couple of pieces of the horehound candy to the pile of goods before wishing his friendly customer a good day. Heyes walked of the store with his purchases under his arm.

"Did you get it?" asked the Kid, pushing away from the post.

Heyes reached inside the blanket and pulled out the small bag of red licorice. "That's not all I got." He walked to the horses to put the supplies into his saddlebag, tucking the newspaper into his inside jacket pocket, and rolling up the blanket against his leg before tying it onto the back of his saddle. Curry narrowed his eyes and waited; he knew that tone.

Heyes mounted and waited for the Kid to climb onto his horse and begin asking questions. When that didn't happen, he couldn't help feeling disappointed. "The robberies are already big news. Seems that some folks are thinking it might be the Devil's Hole gang."

"So? It was us," said the Kid.

Grinning now that the trap had sprung, Heyes continued, "Seems other folks don't agree. Matter of fact, the article I read feels that now that Hannibal Heyes is dead, Kid Curry ain't smart enough to plan a robbery."

"What?! Let me see that paper!"

Heyes pulled the paper out from his jacket and passed it over to his cousin. The Kid folded it up and read the front page while Heyes led them to the saloon down the street. Wheat and Kyle's horses were tied out front and they dismounted next to them. Curry looked up from the paper, visibly upset. "I helped you plan all those robberies, how can they say that?"

"Don't let it get to you, Kid. It don't matter if the public thinks you're slow."

"It matters to me!"

Heyes laughed, delighted at needling his partner. "Kid, you're just gonna have to figure out how to let the public know you're smarter than they think you are. Maybe leave a calling card next time." He turned and started to go into the saloon, but the Kid's hand snaked out and seized his arm.

"What about you, Heyes? How're you gonna feel when I start taking credit for the jobs? You're dead, you know. Why, I bet the Public is gonna start thinking that maybe Kid Curry was the real brains behind the gang all along."

Heyes's mouth dropped open and he stared at his smug cousin while the Kid grinned at him. "You know, Kid, if you were any smarter I'd have to kill you." The sound of his partner's laughter followed him into the crowded bar. Wheat and Kyle were sitting at a table for six in the center of the room with an older, obviously drunken man. A half-emptied bottle of cheap whiskey sat next to the man's left hand and Wheat reached over to re-fill their glasses. Heyes walked to the bar and bought another bottle while the Kid walked over to the table and rested his hands on one of the empty chairs.

"Afternoon; mind if my partner and me join you folks? He's fetching another bottle to share."

"Suit yourself," growled Wheat.

The wobbly man between Wheat and Kyle grinned at the Kid in pleasure. "Sure thing, mister. Come sit right down. We're celebrating."

Curry sat and smiled as Heyes walked over gripping the bottle in his right hand. He sat down, too, and placed the new bottle on the table in front of him, asking, "So what are we celebrating?"

"My promotion! That's what," said the man, reaching for the new bottle and missing badly. After two attempts, he looked at Wheat and begged him with his eyes. The big outlaw grabbed the bottle and slopped another full-to-the-brim serving into the man's glass. He then gripped his own glass with the palm of his hand and served himself a small splash before passing the bottle to Kyle. It was an old trick, one that Heyes and the Kid used regularly, and it worked every time.

The Kid held up his glass and said, "To promotions!" He downed his drink and slammed the glass to the wooden surface. The small, mousy man jumped at the noise and giggled.

"What were you promoted to?" asked Heyes, lifting his own glass to his lips.

"Mister, you're lookin' at the new Office Manager of the Laramie Wells Fargo branch, Mr. Wilbur Hastings," said Kyle with a lopsided smile. He held his hand up and toasted his new found friend.

Heyes sat back and looked at the man, "Really? Didn't they just get robbed? Seems like funny timing to be handing out promotions."

Wheat leaned forward. "Mister, you're gonna offend Mr. Hastings," he said warningly.

Wilbur quickly grabbed the bottle in front of Heyes, getting it on the first try, and laughed, "A man who buys me a drink can't ever offend me. You're right, Mister…?"

"It's Cottingham, Calhoun Cottingham, but you can call me Cal. This here's my partner, Sonny."

"Sonny? Isn't that kind of a funny name for a grown man?" chortled Wilbur as the Kid frowned at both him and his partner. "Sorry, Sonny, I didn't mean anything by that. I guess I've had a little too much to drink. It's making me chatty." He turned his attention back to Heyes. "That's why I got the promotion. I saved the company almost forty thousand dollars," he said proudly, but with a slight slurring of his words.

"Well, congratulations to you, Wilbur," Heyes lifted his glass again and the others followed; Kyle patting Wilbur on the back so hard he spilled some of his whiskey. Heyes reached over, topping it off again, and sat back smiling at the new office manager. "So how'd you get it?"

Wilbur laughed, "I lied through my teeth."

Heyes laughed, too, and the Kid grinned back then looked at Wilbur and asked, "What'd you lie about?"

"The keys," giggled the inebriated man. Heyes got a sick feeling and rubbed his face, he'd just figured out where this was going. His partner looked at him questioningly as the small man continued, "Yes sir, lied through my teeth. You see, I got ready for work a couple of weeks ago and I couldn't find my keys. It's my job to open up and get the drawers set up for the tellers. Figured I must've forgotten them at work. I keep them in my desk's top left-hand drawer. Same place-day in and day out." The Kid glared at Heyes and gripped the table tightly. The dime had dropped for him, too. "Scared the hell out of me, too. Wells is real fussy about security and I knew I'd be canned if the boss found out. I didn't know what to do; I couldn't get into the office without my keys, and I had to open the office or explain why I didn't; so I broke the lock on the back door and busted in. Got to my desk and still couldn't find my keys; must've dropped them somewhere. Usually, I'm real careful but I'd had a few on my way home the night before and they could've been anywhere. When my boss got in, he saw the broken lock and came at me real angry. I told him someone had broken in during the night and stolen my keys. You feeling okay, Cal? You don't look so good. Anyway, the boss figured whoever it was, they were nosing about looking for information on those two stagecoaches that got held up. It was his idea to ship the payroll out on the train instead and stuffing the stage strongboxes with newspaper. He just got promoted to head of the regional office and I got his job. Don't that beat all? Who would've of thought, there'd actually be a robbery, let alone two of them?"

The Kid stood up and pulled Heyes to his feet by grabbing his jacket and hauling him to his feet. "Cal, why don't we get you back to the hotel before you get sick right here in the saloon?" Heyes nodded meekly and followed his irritated partner out the door. Curry shoved him roughly away.

"Kid, how could I know? C'mon, you thought it was funny at the time, too."

"It ain't funny now. John's lying over in the sheriff's office all shot up because you got smart-ass."

"That's not fair! How was I to know Wilbur would make up a story about a robbery?!"

Curry sighed. "You're right. I didn't think anything of it at the time."

"Geez, I still have the damn keys," said Heyes, fishing deep into his pocket and holding up a small ring.

"Get rid of them," hissed the Kid, "Last thing we need is someone finding out you're holding keys to the Wells Fargo office." Heyes obediently dropped the keys into the water trough in front of their horses.

"I'm sorry. I should've gotten rid of them right then and there. Good old Wilbur would've found the door unlocked the next morning and figured he'd forgotten to lock up the night before. No one would've been the wiser." Heyes was horrified that he'd made such a huge mistake.

"We're slipping, Heyes. We shouldn't have goofed this up. I watched you pocket those keys and didn't think nothing of it at the time. I should've and so should've you."

"Is it just me or do you feel like someone's trying to tell us something?"

"You mean like get out of this business?"

"Yeah, just like that. Hey, looks like the doc's leaving the sheriff's office. C'mon," Heyes started to run down the sidewalk towards the tall, gaunt grey-haired man hurrying away from the jail with a large, black bag held in one hand. "Doctor, Doc, wait up."

The surprised physician stopped mid-way across the street and waited as the young stranger ran up to him followed by a blond-haired man. He eyed the men as they caught their breath. "What can I do for you? Are you sick?"

Heyes shook his head, "No, sir, not like that; just sick to death with worry."

"Worried about what, young man?"

"My friend here's wife is in an awful state. Seems her brother got hisself tangled up with some outlaws a few days ago and she thinks it might be the ones that robbed those stages."

"Well then, sir, she's right to be worried."

"John's a good man, Doc, but he's not from around here. He's from Mexico originally and he don't understand some of the finer points of judging the company he keeps. His sister's afraid he might be the man that got shot during that robbery. The man the sheriff's got in the jail. We promised her we'd find out if it was John, but you see Doc, we can't just go into the pokey and ask. I mean, what if it is John? We'd have to tell the sheriff who we were and then there'd go the good family name. Now, her poor old sickly Ma would die from mortification if the family name got dragged through the mud. Don't you see?" babbled Heyes.

"No, sir, I really don't see what this has to do with me." The doctor started to move past the two men when the Kid stepped forward and blocked his way. The medical man looked up mesmerized by the cold, blue eyes staring him down. "One side, young man."

"No sir, I can't step aside. I need to know how John is or there'll be no reason for me to go home tonight."

The exasperated man sighed, "Very well. What is it you want to know? The man said his name was Sam Carlson, but I didn't believe him. He's Mexican, through and through. Most likely it's the man you're looking for."

"I'll break it gently to my wife, sir. Thank you," said the Kid sincerely.

Heyes smiled. John had usurped Wall-eyed and Wheat's names and come up with an alias, maybe not a good alias, but at least he'd known enough not to give his real name. "How is he, sir? Is he hurt bad?"

The doctor squinted at him with one eye and spit out of the corner of his mouth. "He'll live. He's shot in the shoulder, but the bullet went clear on through and whoever patched him up did a good job of cleaning the wound. He's lost some blood, but if infection doesn't set in, he'll be fine."

"Thanks, Doc. That's great news," Heyes shook the man's hand vigorously, "We owe you, Doc."

"Just get the hell out of my way and let me get home to my own wife and dinner," growled the Doc. The Kid stepped aside and the two grinning partners watched as the doctor resumed hurrying down the street.

"Let's go find Wheat and Kyle. We're busting John out," said Heyes.

"Right now? Wouldn't it be better if we let him rest up some?"

"Nope. It's still regular business hours. John's gonna get a visit from the lawyer his dear sister hired. Have Wheat and Kyle fetch the horses and wait by that stack of whiskey barrels out behind the saloon. They can bring the bottle. It'll look like they're just tying a few more on."

"What do you want me to do?"

"You'll be my loyal, although underpaid, clerk."

"What do I have to do?"

"Nod a lot and say, yes, sir," Heyes started to walk away, but paused, turning back, "Oh, and smuggle the gun in."

"What?!"

OOOOOOOOOO

The sheriff was just finishing up his paperwork on the prisoner when a loud banging at his locked door interrupted his administrative duties. "Who the hell is it?"

"Walter K. Forthright, Esquire, Sheriff, here to consult with my new client, Sam Carlson." The loud rapping continued.

The sheriff mumbled, "Carlson, my eye," and then yelled, "Hold your horses, I'm coming for Pete's sake!" He rose from his desk and glanced at the injured man in his cell. "Sam" struggled to sit up having recognized Heyes's voice. He smiled weakly at the sheriff. "I wanna talk to my lawyer."

The lawman pulled his gun and swung the door open. A smiling dark-haired man and a scowling blond-haired man stood outside. The darker of the two held a leather briefcase in one hand and thrust the other hand out, waiting expectantly for the sheriff to holster his pistol. He did so reluctantly and the man seized his hand, shaking it enthusiastically. "I'm Walter K. Forthright, at your service, Sheriff. Or, perhaps, I should say at my client's service. Sam, good to see you." Heyes took a step towards the inside of the building, but the sheriff held up a hand stopping him in his tracks.

"You as well, Walter," answered the jailed man politely.

"And who's this?" growled the sheriff looking the Kid over.

"This is my legal assistant, Dudley Peepers," replied the glib lawyer. The Kid scowled even more deeply, but slightly bowed his head in acknowledgement.

"Well, step on in here. I'm gonna have to search you two before you can consult my prisoner; standard procedure. Mr. Peepers, you can set over there by the woodstove while I give Mr. Walter K. Forthright, here, a good going over."

"Yes sir," said the Kid mildly. He sat carefully down in the cane chair drawn up close to lit woodstove. Holding his hands towards the hot iron stove, he smiled as the sheriff thoroughly frisked his partner. Finding nothing, the lawman cleared his throat and gestured for the Kid to come over. Curry rose slowly and walked meekly to the waiting man. He, too, was patted up and down his legs, arms, and across his mid-section.

Satisfied, the sheriff walked over and opened the cell door. Heyes walked in, but the Kid was stopped before he could enter. "Not you. You can wait out here. And, you, Mr. Forthright, leave that bag out here."

Heyes nodded to the Kid, handing him the bag, and turned to John, crossing the cell floor and sitting down on the thin, lumpy mattress. "How are you feeling, Sam?"

"Okay, I guess. They've been treating me decent enough."

"I'm glad to hear it. We'll have you out of here in no time." Heyes dropped his voice down low and quietly told John his plan.

The Kid, sitting by the stove, started to jiggle his right leg up and down impatiently. He looked up to see the sheriff watching him at the same time he watched the lawyer and the prisoner. "Uh, Sheriff, I've got to go. Is it okay if I go out to the outhouse?"

The grizzled man stood up and shook his head. "Damn it all; just use the commode in the other cell. I ain't friskin' you again. Leave the bag." He followed the blond man to the empty cell across from the prisoner and watched closely as the Kid reached up and pulled the clean commode off the shelf over the bed, sitting it down on the floor in front of him. He turned his back discreetly to the lawman and the other occupants of the room, and fussed some with his fly buttons. Finally, a stream of urine splashed into the commode and the meek law clerk completed his business.

"Leave it there, the deputy can get it when he comes in later," growled the sheriff. He stepped aside as Curry came back out through the door and was shocked to feel the barrel of a small gun pressing into his side. The blond man lifted his gun from its holster and tossed it to the lawyer, who caught it deftly. "We're gonna be taking Sam with us, Sheriff. Step inside the cell and turn around." The Kid lifted the keys and handcuffs dangling from the lawman's empty gun belt as the man stared at the small derringer in his hand; it had been damned uncomfortable for the Kid, trying to walk around with a gun in his underwear. Curry pushed the sheriff's hands through the bars and handcuffed them together. Pulling a bandana out of his pocket, the Kid neatly gagged the bound man. "Sorry, Sheriff, standard procedure, you know." He hurried to the front door and threw the heavy bar across it, locking it from the inside.

Heyes had John's arm over his shoulder and was supporting most of his man's weight as the Kid slipped the key inside the heavy lock on the cell door. With a click, it sprang open. Heyes eased John out and stopped in front of the angry sheriff. "It's going to be mighty humiliating for you to have to explain to Wells Fargo how you lost your prisoner, ain't it?"

"Don't feel bad, Sheriff," said the Kid from across the room, "that's Hannibal Heyes, alive and in the flesh, who broke into your jail easy as pie."

Heyes grinned broadly and tipped his hat, "If it's any consolation, Sheriff, you've been hoodwinked by the best. That's Kid Curry over there, and as glad as he was to meet you, that really was a pistol he was packing."

The lawman growled through his gag and shook the bars as the three outlaws slipped out, laughing hard.


	13. Chapter 13

"You still feelin' poorly, Heyes?" Wheat eyed his leader as he rode alongside him. Something was going on, but he wasn't sure what. Heyes had looked like death warmed over sitting in that saloon right before the Kid had hauled him out of there. Wheat had been afraid that they wouldn't accomplish what they'd come to Laramie for, but Heyes had bounced back quickly. Quick enough to bust John out of jail.

Wheat tightened his hold on the injured man who lolled semi-consciously against him. His high-strung horse had easily carried the two men as the gang had ridden hard to put Laramie and the law behind them, but the ride had taken its toll on John. Blood was seeping through the bandage across his wound and he'd taken a fever. At least they'd be back at the Hole in another couple of hours. Heyes was going take them in the back way, up an old, overgrown game trail in order to bypass the possibility of coming across that posse. Heyes wasn't taking any chances this time with a wounded man needing care. Wheat just hoped John would heal up okay once he got some rest. He glanced up at the dark, forbidding clouds turning the sky an ugly gray. Hopefully, the weather would hold off until they got in.

Heyes was looking at Wheat in confusion, trying to digest his question. "Huh?"

"You was sick earlier, weren't you?"

"Uh, yeah, must've been something I ate," said Heyes, trying to cover up his awkwardness.

The Kid, riding on his partner's left side, laughed, and added, "Heyes puked his brains out in the alley; nearly ruined those fancy boots of his. I can guarantee you he got rid of what was making him ill." He smirked at Heyes, who remembered, all too well, the keys he'd disposed of in the water trough.

"That's about all them boots is good for," laughed Wheat, satisfied with the explanation and happy to poke fun at Heyes. He reined up to ride alongside his own partner. Kyle was asleep in his saddle, a small trickle of tobacco-y spit drooling from the side of his open mouth. "Hey, wake up!" Wheat gave him a shove, and Kyle sat up with a start, choking slightly on the plug still in his mouth. "Dammit, Wheat, what'd you'd do that for? I was dreamin' 'bout Daisy." The small outlaw spit out the chaw he'd nearly swallowed and gave his partner an angry scowl.

"Sorry, but you was about to fall off. Ain't you already fallen for that gal once?" Laughing, Wheat pulled a small flask from inside his coat and passed it over to his good friend.

The two outlaw leaders rode quietly along together. After a couple of minutes, when they had gotten further ahead and out of earshot, Heyes said, "Thanks, Kid."

The Kid glanced at him. Wheat was right, Heyes didn't look that good and he figured he knew why. "Are you still moping over those keys? It was just a stupid mistake and we both made it. Let it go."

"I can't let it go. John got shot up and we're just damn lucky nobody else did. I could've gotten us all killed."

"Ain't you being a bit melodramatic? You couldn't have known that Wilbur was gonna make up some cock-eyed story or that his boss was gonna buy it and pull a switch on you. You want to wallow in guilt; you go right ahead. We're human, we're gonna make mistakes.

Angry now, at himself and his partner's refusal to indulge him, Heyes snapped, "I know that, but it don't matter. I shouldn't have taken the keys; I should've known better."

"Well, why did you take 'em?"

"I thought they might come in handy later. Maybe we'd hit Wells again after things died down."

"So you had a good reason to take them, and, with some better luck, it might've been a good thing. You're always stumbling across things other folks miss and making the most of them. Don't beat yourself up because it didn't turn out right this time." The Kid patted his horse neck, smoothing the hair.

"That's just it. We've done some dumb things in the past and been real lucky to get away with them. Well, luck changes and I'm thinking mine might be taking a turn for the worse."

"Bull-you're just hurting from having to ride away from Allie. You've been looking at the dark side of things ever since."

"It ain't that," said Heyes morosely.

"Geez, I hate it when you talk like this. What the hell do you have rattling around in your head?" The Kid could see that Heyes was uncomfortable talking about what was bothering him, but that was nothing new. Sometimes it was like pulling a stubborn tooth trying to draw the truth from his partner. Heyes could talk a blue streak when it suited him, but when something was bothering him you couldn't get him to put two words together. "Tell me," he said commandingly.

Heyes stared ahead trying to put his feelings into words. "It's just…I don't know…it ain't nothing you haven't already heard." He looked down at the ground and over his shoulder, anywhere but at his partner of so many years.

"What is it, Heyes? You're scaring me here." Finally, dark eyes turned to meet his.

"I feel like we're finished, Kid, like our luck's gone and it's just a matter of time before something real bad happens…happens to you."

"Not that again. Why to me? Why not to you? If you're gonna keep getting all gloomy on me, Heyes, the least you can do is make your own ass the object of your fears!"

Heyes looked at him blankly for a second and then gave a small laugh. "I always manage to save my own ass; it's your ass I worry about."

"Well, worrying never did no one any good," said the Kid, smiling at his friend. He dropped the smile quickly, though, and said, "Heyes, we've talked this round over and over again and nothing's ever gonna change. We chose our path a long time ago and we've always known where it was likely to end up. You might be right; it's about time for us to get to the end of our road. But, if we're there, we got there together. That counts for something, don't it?"

"Yeah, I guess it does," said Heyes, smiling tightly.

"And, you ain't lost all your luck. You got damn lucky that Wheat and Kyle didn't figure it out about those keys. I reckon its time you forgave Wheat his mistakes."

"I already have."

"Good."

How did the Kid always know what he needed to hear? He _**was**_ lucky; lucky to have the Kid still riding alongside him; lucky to have a partner who knew him better than he knew himself; damn lucky to have a good, true friend he could count on. He had to stop worrying about their future and enjoy what he had now. He was wasting what precious time they still had by fretting over something he couldn't control.

With a wicked grin, he turned to his cousin, "Twenty bucks says I can beat you to the top of the knoll." He spurred his small sorrel gelding knowing he'd need a good lead on the Kid's big bay gelding. He took off at a dead run, startling Wheat's and Kyle's horses and causing their riders to scramble for a better grip on their reins.

"Hey!" yelled the Kid, struggling to keep up with his partner, both literally and figuratively.

OOOOOOOOOO

Heyes and the Kid reached up and gently took John from Wheat's arms. He'd passed out a while ago. It was blessing, really; he'd missed the rocky, precarious ride that snaked down the cliffs looming over the Hole. It had been bumpy and hard going. Heyes seldom risked coming in that way because of the dangerous footing.

"Let's get him to the cookhouse, Kid. It'll be the warmest place," said Heyes, adjusting his grip on his unconscious man.

"Don't look like Gully's got the stove going yet. There's smoke coming out of the bunkhouse chimney, we'd better take him there."

Wheat and Kyle dismounted and came around to help carry their fallen comrade; they grabbed each other's hands behind John's legs and lifted him, forming a human litter between the four of them with the Kid and Heyes supporting the hurt man's shoulders in the same fashion.

"I sure hope Gully's been cookin' up a storm. I'm so hungry I could eat Wheat's horse," joked Kyle.

Heyes frowned, seeing no smoke from the cookhouse. What was Gully thinking? Hungry outlaws were dangerous men. John moaned slightly and Heyes shifted his grip again, forgetting about food. The Kid kicked open the bunkhouse door using his foot and backed inside with Heyes as they gripped hands under John's shoulders. The room was almost stiflingly hot and the woodstove in the center of it glowed red.

Carefully, the four men lowered John onto his bunk. Heyes sent Kyle up to the cabin to fetch his medical supplies and Wheat back outside to take the horses into the barn. The Kid crossed to the stove and closed the vents at the bottom to damp down the flames and cool off the iron. "Those damn fools are gonna burn this place down someday. What were they thinking leaving this stove blazing like that?"

Heyes, leaning over John, gently un-wrapped the soiled bandages across his shoulder, the wound looked okay. It was slightly red and puckered around the edges, but no real signs of infection. He felt John's forehead. Still hot, but that was to be expected after the day's exertions. Relieved, he sat back to wait for Kyle's return and looked at his partner. "Where is everybody?"

"I don't know, but I'm gonna find out," said an annoyed Kid Curry, striding across the floorboards and yanking open the door.

"Go easy on them, Kid. I want them in a decent mood when I tell them there's no money coming this time."

Curry let go of the door, shutting it, and walked over to his partner. "I forgot you hadn't told them yet. We'll do it together."

"Thanks, but Wheat wants to shoulder his part and I'm gonna let him. This isn't your problem, it's ours. I'll wait for him and then he can stand with me. Though, I won't mind at all if you kept your gun hand loose," grinned Heyes, looking up at his cousin from his perch on the edge of the bunk bed.

The Kid patted him on his shoulder, "It'll be fine, Heyes. You've made them a lot of money this winter. No one's got any reasons to complain."

"No one around here needs a reason to complain, Kid, it just comes naturally," snorted Heyes as the door opened again and Kyle stepped in, his arms filled with bandages. Wheat followed the smaller man with a pail of water, setting it on the hot stove before coming over to stand by the bunk. "How's he doing?"

"Not bad. Let's get him cleaned up," said Heyes, turning his attention back to the wounded man.

"I'll find the boys," said the Kid.

"Find somethin'to eat, too, Kid. I'm starvin'," pleaded Kyle.

"Will do." The Kid stepped outside and crossed the yard in a hurry. The sun was nearly down over the cliffs and the biting wind they'd battled all the way home was blowing harder. Small flakes of wet snow struck his face. As he neared the cookhouse, he could hear his men inside, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. He pulled the door opened and stopped cold at the sight before him.

Wall-eyed was cursing and fussing with the stove, striking match after match, but failing to light it. Hank had on Gully's apron and he was nearly covered from head to foot with flour. A gray, lumpy mass of dough sat on the table before him. Lobo hovered over him with a book in hand and his finger pressed down on it keeping his place while he berated his friend. "Dammit, Hank, it says right here two cups of flour, not two pints. You used the wrong measuring cup."

Hank slammed a fist down and a cloud of white powder took to the air. "How am I supposed to know? I ain't made a recipe before. Just add more milk." A chuckle from the doorway drew his attention and he looked at the Kid scowling. "It ain't funny, Kid. Gully took off and we ain't got nothin' to eat."

"Took off? When?" The Kid was concerned; he was damn hungry, too.

"Right after we got back. He left Heyes a letter. It's over there on the shelf over the stove. Wall-eyed almost burned it by mistake," said Hank, earning a scowl from the man kneeling by the stove. Lobo picked up the dough and put it back into the dirty bowl on the table. He poured some milk over it and began kneading angrily. Having already figured out that Gully probably wasn't coming back, he was too pissed to speak to Curry and the gooey lump suffered for it.

The Kid snatched up the letter, tucked it into his coat pocket, and turned his attention back to the men before him. He needed to keep them under control until this got sorted out and the best way to do that was to keep them busy. "Wall-eyed, quit messing with that stove and use the bunkhouse stove, it's burning hot enough to roast a cow. Hank, go on out to the barn and fetch the supplies that Heyes brought in. They're in his saddlebags; there's some cans of beans in there. Take a pot with you and put them on the woodstove to heat up. Lobo, run down to the smokehouse and grab one of those hams hanging up there." His men sprang into action as he started to turn for the door. "Oh, and clean this mess up. Gully'll have your hides if he comes back to a dirty kitchen." He knew the chances of Gully coming back were slim to none, but he had to smooth things out until Heyes had a chance to know what was coming at him. He almost ran back to the bunkhouse.

Kyle and Wheat were supporting John as Heyes finished wrapping him up. They all looked up as the Kid came in. "Trouble, Heyes. Gully's gone. He left a note." He pulled out the letter and held it out to his frowning partner. Wheat looked at Kyle, who moaned at the news, but both men were wise enough not to say anything. They watched as Heyes tore open the envelope. He read it quickly and crumpled the note, shoving it into his pocket. "Great, just great. Kyle, go on back up to the cabin. Under my bed, there's a case of that Tennessee whiskey. Bring me four bottles. Also, on my dresser is a box of cigars, grab that, too."

"Sure, Heyes, but what're we gonna do for grub?" asked Kyle.

"The boys are on it, Kyle. Don't worry about your stomach," said the Kid.

"Go, Kyle!" growled Wheat. He watched his small partner scurry out the door before looking back at Heyes and the Kid. "This is bad, ain't it? Does this have something to do with Gully ridin' along with us? Just what the heck did you say to him to get him to agree to come? He always said he wouldn't never do that." The look on Heyes's face told him all he needed to know. "Aww, dammit all to hell, what are we gonna do now? We've still gotta tell those boys they ain't gettin' any money."

"Back off, Wheat," said the Kid, warning him to shut up.

"Those boys'll fill us full of lead for sure," continued Wheat, ignoring Curry's cold stare. Heyes said nothing and continued caring for John, but he was thinking feverishly about how to handle his men. Wheat grumbled, "Well, I guess my stomach ain't gonna feel empty if it's full of hot lead."

"Shut up, Wheat, and let Heyes think," snapped the Kid.

"Think? His thinking's what got us into this m…." Wheat stopped short as the Kid grabbed him by his coat collar. "Um, you know, maybe I'd best go help Kyle."

"You do that, Wheat," ground out the Kid.

"No, wait!" said Heyes, wiping his hands on his pant as he stood up and walked to the other side of the bunkhouse, gesturing for the Kid and Wheat to follow. Curry let go of the bigger man, giving him a small shove, and they both trailed after the dark-haired outlaw leader. Heyes stopped at the far end of the room, far enough away that John was unlikely to hear anything should he awaken unexpectedly. "We all need to talk this through. We're the only ones that know there's no money, right?" Heyes started to walk back in forth in front of them. "What if there was?"

"Was what?" asked Wheat.

"Let Heyes finish," snapped the Kid, already guessing where his partner was going, but not particularly happy about it.

"Money, Wheat. What if there was money?" asked Heyes.

"There's no point in wonderin'. There ain't any money and the men know it," growled Wheat.

"Your men know it; mine don't," grinned Heyes. "The Kid's the only one that knows our strongbox was empty, too."

Wheat's eyes widened and he started to protest, "You're gonna lie to them!"

The Kid leaned back against the bunkhouse wall to watch his partner work on Wheat.

"Hold on now, I'm not lying. They'll be getting what they expected so they ought to be satisfied with it." Heyes watched Wheat like he was a coiled rattler. He had to have his lieutenant's help for this to work.

"So you're gonna be the hero, 'cause they'll all think you got the money, and I get to be the goat, again. Is that it?" bristled Wheat.

"No, that ain't it. Stop, for one second, competing with me and look at this from a practical point of view. The men have already gotten one serious disappointment. They ain't stupid, Wheat, they know Gully's cleared out and they're already thinking about what that's gonna mean for them from here on out. Do you really want to tell them they aren't getting paid too? How do you think they might react to that news? Who do you think they'd blame?"

"You."

"I'm talking about making things right, Wheat. You want to be leader, you've gotta deal with the problems. You'd be the goat if you stood in the way of my making things right."

Wheat tried to stare Heyes down, but ended up hemming and hawing, "Well, I guess that makes sense; giving 'em the money would solve our worst problem and if they got paid, it'd sure make it easier for 'em to swallow losin' Gully."

"How much you got saved?" asked Heyes. The Kid pushed off the wall and came over to stand next to his partner, giving Wheat a silent reminder to watch his manners.

"Now, hold on a second, that's _**my**_ loot," Wheat blustered.

The Kid frowned at him again and shook his head. "It's your neck, too."

Heyes started pacing again, "Mine, too, Wheat; but we were the leaders and we've both had a hand in coming up empty. The boys think we took in forty grand. That means that once we pull off ten percent for overhead and take our cuts, we should have…wait…Lobo and Hank are getting a bigger cut, too, for taking the tough jobs…so we need to come up with…no, that's not right, Gully's out, so we cut it eight ways, not nine. That'll be…thirty seven twelve-fifty a head and we only have to pay five men, so that makes…eighteen thousand, five hundred sixty-two dollars and fifty cents we've gotta come up with real quick."

"I don't got half of that!" yelled Wheat.

"Shh! Keep it down," hissed the Kid.

"What do you have?" asked Heyes, stopping again in front of the bigger man.

Wheat shrugged, "Don't know, maybe five grand."

"That's all?" The Kid was incredulous. They'd brought in so much cash so fast this winter. Wheat must be holding out on Heyes. He made to grab at the bigger man again, but Wheat put his hands up quickly to fend him off.

"Kid, it's the honest truth. I sent most of it home to my Ma. She's having a hard time. And, I sent some to Soapy for the gals out at the Second Chance," added Wheat quickly. He'd also lost a bunch playing poker with the boys and whoring in Belton. Little Lacie had rolled him the last time he'd seen her and left town the same night, leaving him drunk and snoring in her bed. Wheat's bankroll was going to finance her retirement.

The Kid raised his eyebrows at Wheat's charity. "How much more do you need, Heyes?"

"I've got ten I keep set aside for emergencies, which this definitely is, and I can come up with another two grand out of my poker stash. If Wheat kicks in his five, we'll be about fifteen hundred short."

"You're gonna bust me!" whined Wheat.

"Don't get your tail in a twist. I've already got another job planned and it'll be quick and easy. Don't forget, this is gonna wipe me out, too," said Heyes.

"I reckon I can cover that fifteen hundred to keep you in one piece," said the Kid.

"Thanks, guess I owe you again." Heyes shifted his eyes to his lieutenant, "Wheat, are you willing?"

Wheat was completely deflated. After a moment or two, he nodded and tried to muster a weak smile, "I reckon I am." He began warming to the idea of making good on his silent promise to square things with John and found himself starting to feel a whole lot better than he had since things had gone south.

Wheat's cooperation made Heyes smile broadly. "All right then, let's get the cash together. We might just pull this off with a little help from Mr. Jack Daniels."

OOOOOOOOOO

The second bottle of whiskey was nearly empty when Wheat picked it up and stepped up onto one of the bunks. He tapped a spoon against the glass bottle, getting the men's attention. A ravaged ham bone sat in the middle of the table and licked-clean plates surrounded it. The remainder of a crusty pot of beans sat simmering on the woodstove. Outlaws were strewn around the room like old clothes; some lying down, some draped over their chairs.

"Listen up, boys, Heyes and me got somethin' to tell you," yelled Wheat.

Grumbles were heard all around the bunkhouse, but faces were turned to Wheat and the noise soon died down. Heyes and the Kid watched quietly from the side of the room.

"You sure you want to do this, Heyes? They got their money, no reason for them to know the particulars." The Kid was chewing on his last piece of ham, holding his plate in his left hand.

"It's gotta be done. I can't risk one of them hearing a rumor or seeing a newspaper and deciding if we'd lied to them about this, what else would we lie about? I don't want anyone questioning my word." Heyes left his partner and walked to the center of the room, joining Wheat.

"Thanks, Wheat. Listen up, boys. You did a real fine job despite some tough conditions this time and I appreciate it. John, I'm sorry you got shot and we're gonna make sure that doesn't happen again. Wheat's trading out his horse for something quieter, but I'm sure you're grateful that nag was hot enough to outrun a posse with two riders." Heyes grinned and lifted his glass to his wounded man, who smiled and nodded firmly. The other men laughed but wondered where this was going. Was Heyes announcing the next job? Lobo frowned; he was ready for a break and so were the rest of the boys; he just hoped they'd back him up if he stood up to Heyes. He wasn't going toe to toe with his boss again; least ways, not until he'd forgotten the last fight.

Wheat cleared his throat in an officious manner and spoke, "Now, we just paid you your fair share of the forty thousand dollars that Wells was supposed to be shipping on those stages…"

"What do you, mean supposed to be?" interrupted Lobo, gruffly.

"That's what Wheat's getting at, Lobo, if you'll just hear him out," said Heyes, sternly. Lobo sat back and shut up.

All attention was on the big outlaw lieutenant and he was enjoying his moment; even Heyes was deferring to him. He'd offered to break it to the boys. After all, it was his horse that caused all the trouble.

"There wasn't any money on those stages." Wheat smiled at the shocked faces turned to him and he waited for grumbling to die down again. "Wells pulled a fast one on us, boys. Those stages were both decoys and the money got sent out on the train."

"You mean I got shot at for nothing?" said John, standing up.

"You got paid same as if there'd been forty grand, didn't you?" growled Wheat. John sat down again.

"Where'd the money come from if there wasn't any on the stages?" asked Wall-eyed.

Heyes walked into the circle of men. "It came from some money Wheat and I had set aside from the last few jobs. Kid threw in on it, too. You all kept up your ends of the bargain and did your jobs; by rights, that money should've been there and the fact that it wasn't, wasn't your fault."

"You never paid us before when we've been skunked on a job, what's different this time?" asked Kyle. Heyes frowned at him and the smaller outlaw squirmed. Leave it to Kyle to get astute at the wrong moment.

"I should've…" began Wheat, but Heyes interrupted him quickly, casting a warning glance to his lieutenant not to go any further.

"I've asked a lot of you boys this winter and I'm gonna ask a lot more. I want the answer to be yes when I do." Heyes popped the cork on the next bottle and handed it to Lobo who hesitated a second and took a drink, passing it onto Wall-eyed. Wheat stepped down off the bunk, and stood next to his leader. Heyes glanced at the Kid who nodded back. The dark-haired leader patted Wheat on the back, and walked out of the bunk house.

OOOOOOOOOO

"How are they?" asked a distracted Hannibal Heyes. He was seated at his small desk, a stub of a candle close to his right hand, staring down at the formerly crumpled note before him. He heard the door open but failed to turn to see who it was. Didn't matter, did it? He'd have known by now if there was going to be trouble. Once the boys were paid, the questions about Gully had died off and the drinking had begun. The third and fourth bottles would be finished by now.

"What's it say, Heyes?" asked the Kid. His partner grabbed up the paper and held it out to him. Taking it, he stepped into the tiny circle of light and began to read:

_Heyes, _

_By the time you get this I'll be long gone. I wanted it that way. That tongue of yours might've talked me into staying. Don't worry about my share of the money, I've got enough set aside, and I don't want it, anyways. _

_You done me two favors for which I'll always be grateful. The first, you know already, and were quick to remind me of. The second one is that you made me take a good, hard look at who I was and how far wrong I've gone. I've been lying to myself the whole time I've been here and might've kept on if you hadn't forced my hand. I was angry at you for it, but now that I've had some time, I think you've saved me again, whether you meant to or not. _

_It's my turn now and I'm going to do you another favor, then we'll be square. You and the Kid are real good at what you do, the best ever, but I can't say as how I see that making you happy. Sure, I know you get a big kick out of getting away with it all, but there's a part of you that knows you're doing wrong. Listen to that part and turn away from this life before it kills who you really are. It's what I should've done and, I can tell you, it ain't too late. Smart as you are you can figure a way out._

_Your friend,_

_Gully_

_PS. Don't let those yahoots into my clean kitchen. Get yourself a new cook right quick._

The Kid glanced at Heyes several times while he read the note. His partner was staring at the flame, intently watching the light flickering as it prepared to go out. The Kid put the note down on the table and lit an oil lamp, putting it on the other corner of the desk. He blew out the candle.

Heyes shook off his reverie and looked up, with a rueful smile. "Words to live by, huh?"

"I reckon," said the Kid.

"Well, I guess he's right about one thing. I'd better get a cook in here fast."

"Ain't gonna happen, Heyes. Have you looked outside the last hour?"

"No, why?"

"We've got us a full-blown blizzard going."

" #$%!"

"I reckon that, too."


	14. Chapter 14

Heyes briefly pulled up his gelding looking for the road to Belton. The storm had abated early this morning, but the snowfall over the past three days had left the lightly-used trail covered under a deep, white featureless blanket. Finding the familiar twisted pine tree he was looking for, he confidently started out again, his partner by his side. The horses ambled along slowly, stepping carefully, and snorting occasionally as ice rimed their nosehairs and tickled their nostrils.

"Heyes?"

"Hmm?"

"What was the ten grand for?"

"I told you, emergencies."

"That's a pretty big emergency."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't quite big enough, was it?"

"Do you always keep that much cash on hand?"

"I try to keep more than that, but with the money I'm sending to the Second Chance, I've run through some of it. We'll get some more quick. You'll like the next job; it's real easy on the back."

Curry ignored his partner's attempt to divert him and refrained from asking what the new job was. "What sort of emergencies are you planning on?"

"How should I know?" Heyes knew the Kid had neatly sidestepped him and he was beginning to get a little irritated with all the questions. "Just in case we need it; like now."

"We can always pull another job if we need cash." After all, that was what they had always done. Curry was thinking about the risks of Heyes sitting on that kind of money. Wheat now knew that Heyes kept a large stash of cash. He wondered how long it would be before a less trustworthy gang member figured it out. They all had to be wondering how Heyes came up with that much money. The gang knew that he kept some on hand to pay for gang expenses and incidentals, but how long would it take for them to do the math and realize just how much Heyes had hidden away somewhere. And, what would they do about it?

"You think the boys would've waited for their money while we went out and knocked over a bank?" laughed Heyes. "I've got people depending on me, partner, I've gotta be prepared."

"I'm not sure it's a good idea for them to know you have that kind of cash around." With a start, Curry realized that he was also upset that his partner had never confided in him that he had the money and he wondered why.

"I don't have it anymore, do I? C'mon, Kid, what if something bad happened and we couldn't get more? What if I was killed or you were?"

"I don't wanna talk about that."

"Neither do I, but you know as well as I do, it could happen. The money'll be there for you if you need it. It's hidden under that cracked stone by the outhouse. The big, flat one; the boys would never think to look there, but it makes it real easy to sneak out to it." Heyes chuckled at his own cleverness. "Look, you didn't really think I'd do all this stealing without putting some aside for a rainy day. Don't you think that'd be kind of stupid, me being a genius and all?" Heyes flashed his partner a brilliant smile. "Besides, you had your own stash."

"That's different. It wasn't ten grand's worth."

"I had a hell of a lot more than ten grand before I went charitable."

"Why?"

"I already said why; in case things go bad for us. You'll have something to set you up in Mexico or one of those sunny places you're always harping about."

"Dammit, Heyes; the last thing I'd want is to go south without you. I'd have already gone if I wanted that."

"I just like knowing I've got us covered."

"Well, we're broke now. How do you plan to hire a new cook?" The Kid's horse shook itself and a flurry of snow went flying.

"I still have my poker stash. It'll do and I might be able to make a little more before we leave town."

The Kid smiled, "Now you're talking."

OOOOOOOOOO

Kyle struggled through the deep snow drifts, stew slopping from the heavy pot he held. Reaching the un-shoveled steps of the bunkhouse, he nearly stumbled. "Hey, open the door!" Snow had dusted his shoulders on the short walk from the cookhouse.

Hank shouldered the door open wiping a small arc of snow from the porch. "It's about time, we're starving in here." He followed Kyle inside and pulled the door shut before sitting down again at the table. The smaller man crossed to the woodstove and put the pot on the single burner on top. From his pockets, Kyle pulled out a dozen or so hard biscuits.

Wheat walked over and tried to lift the lid on the pot, but his partner smacked his hand hard causing him to drop the lid back down with a clatter. "What'd you do that for?" snapped the big outlaw.

"Keep your shirt on, Wheat, it ain't ready yet. I had to cool it off some to carry it over and I want it to be good and hot. This here's my grandpa's recipe and it's gotta be done right," said Kyle. He opened the door to the stove, grabbed two more logs from the wooden box next to it, and threw them inside to stoke the flames.

"Smells good, Kyle. What is it?" asked Wall-eyed as he walked over to join the others around the hot woodstove. John was propped up on his bunk dozing; his shoulder was still paining him and the storm had provided him a chance to catch up on his sleep.

"Stew."

"Aw, geez, don't anyone know how to make anythin' but stew? I'm sick of stew," groused Wheat.

"Seems to me you was makin' stew night before last," said Wall-eyed. "'Sides, weren't you belly-aching about John's dinner? He didn't make stew."

Wheat cast a glance at the sleeping man, and lowered his voice, "Those in-chill-lah-dees could've taken the paint off the wall. My belly was on fire all night!"

Wall-eyed shrugged, "I'll give you that. I could've done with a few less of them chili peppers myself, but they sure made the beer go down easy. Not too much fun in the morning, though."

"I liked them. The beans were good, too," said Hank.

Kyle turned from the pot and looked at him. "They wasn't so good the second time around. Next time you eat beans, you're sleepin' outside, snow or not. I ain't dyin' in my sleep from refried bean poisonin'."

Hank chuckled, "You weren't no petunia neither, Kyle."

"Heyes and the Kid will be back day after tomorrow with the new cook; save your bellyachin' for them," Kyle pulled a stack of bowls and a bottle of whiskey off the shelf above the stove and set them on the table. "Get your spoons out, boys, stew's ready. John, wake up, time to eat."

John opened his eyes and smiled, "Good, I'm hungry." He gingerly stood up and came over, rolling his stiff shoulder and flexing his hands before sitting down next to Wall-eyed. "Too bad Lobo's missing this one, it smells good."

"I'll keep some warm for him. He'll be off watch soon," Kyle ladled generous portions into the bowls and passed them around to the hungry outlaws. They'd been snowed in for nearly four days and it was wearing on them. Without chores to keep them busy, they'd played cutthroat poker the first two days, but fights kept breaking out, and Wheat had finally called a halt to the games. That left six bored outlaws with nothing to do except feed the livestock and think about what they would eat next. Unfortunately, now that Gully was gone, they had to take turns doing their own cooking. Breakfast had been a steady diet of oatmeal and lunches consisted of cold, salted meat and leaden breads.

With the arrival of dinner, the room quieted down. Appreciative grunts and the scraping of dishes took over for conversation. Wheat finished first and smiled at his partner. "That's real tasty, Kyle, best stew yet. What is it?"

"My grandpa's varmint stew; he used to be a cook on board an East Indies tradin' ship. This here's his recipe. Who wants some more?" Kyle stood up and pulled the pot off the stove, plunking it down in the middle of the table. Eager hands reached for the ladle and seconds were passed all around.

"Varmint, huh? It ain't coon or squirrel, I've had those. What is it?" said Wheat, shoveling another big spoonful of the tasty meal into his mouth as he spoke.

Hank said, "Horsemeat," and Wall-eyed sniggered.

"That ain't funny," growled Wheat with genuine menace in his voice. He heard all he wanted to ever hear about his horse. He'd already given up his fancy mount for a placid, homely roan gelding and it still stung.

"It's rat," said Kyle. Wheat blew his mouthful across the table splattering Hank, who jumped back and reached for his gun reflexively.

"What?! You're servin' us rat?! What the hell, Kyle," bellowed Wheat. Hank turned varying shades of green and Wall-eyed rushed for the door.

"Rat ain't no different than rabbits or chickens, Wheat, you eat what you've got plenty of and we had plenty of rats trying to get into the storehouse when the snow started. It didn't take much to catch 'em." Kyle frowned, hurt by his friends' angry grumbling. "You all have been complainin' about not having fresh meat. You do now, set down and eat it. It ain't gonna hurt you, I been eatin' this stew my whole life."

"I ain't eatin' no rat!" Hank grabbed a couple of biscuits and went over to his bunk to sulk. Wall-eyed returned, wiping a sleeve over his mouth, and swallowing hard several times; he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and downed some before passing it to Hank, who upended it.

Wheat stared at John, who was still eating quietly, ignoring the fuss going on around him. John looked up at Wheat and shrugged, "The stew's good. My mamacita used to grill the field rats over an open fire."

"You've eaten it before?" a stunned Wheat looked back and forth from Kyle to John.

"Sure. In my country, it is eaten." John reached out and served himself another spoonful. "Kyle, you gotta teach me this recipe."

"I don't care how good it tastes, I ain't eatin' it." Wheat stalked off to his bunk and laid down on it. He was still hungry, but there was no way he was eating more of that stew. He was angry all over again that Gully was gone and it was all Heyes's fault; good thing the new cook was coming soon.

Wall-eyed left an hour later to relieve Lobo on watch. When Lobo returned, he found the bunkhouse dead quiet. His friends were pretending to be asleep after a wild flurry of betting on what he would do when he found out he'd eaten rat stew. Wheat opened one eye from the shadows of his lower bunk, and watched as Lobo shook the snow off his coat and hung it up. Unbuckling his gun belt, the chilled man hung that up, too, along with his wet hat. John snuck a quick peek, but closed his eyes quickly as Lobo turned towards the stove. Kyle really was asleep having gone to bed in a snit over the cool reception his stew had received.

Lobo lifted the lid and sniffed the stew. Hank had his face pressed hard into his pillow trying to suppress the laughter threatening to bubble out of him, but Wheat watched in disbelief as the craggy outlaw grabbed a biscuit, laid down on his bunk, and fell asleep before he could finish his crumbly meal. Disappointed in Lobo's performance, the rest of the gang settled down into their bunks and the sounds of snoring outlaws soon filled the bunkhouse.

OOOOOOOOOO

The saloon was unusually quiet for a Friday afternoon and Heyes found himself without a poker game to entertain him while his partner spent his time upstairs with the lovely Maybelle. He'd run out of conversations to have with Ben, the barkeep, and was looking for something to do. He idly shuffled a deck of cards one-handed as he looked out the grimy window and rocked his chair on its back legs.

Ben was washing his beer mugs and glasses, setting each one on the counter running the length of the bar, before picking up the next. Finished, he wiped his hands on the grayish apron he wore and reached under the bar. Heyes's chair banged to the floor and his dark eyes swung to the barkeep while his hand dropped to his gun. Ben lifted his hands over his head, his right hand holding a newspaper, and begged, "Please don't shoot, Mr. Heyes."

"Sorry, Ben, you startled me is all."

Ben nodded his head. "Yes sir, I can see that." He put the paper on the bar and shakily lifted a couple of clean glasses off the shelf over the back bar. While he appreciated his famous patrons for their outwardly friendly natures, he knew they were tough men who lived desperate lives and his mistake could've been fatal. "I think I could use a drink. You?" Watching Heyes, he carefully reached under the bar again; this time pulling out a bottle of fine whiskey. He uncorked it and poured two fingers into each of the glasses as Heyes stood up and came over. They toasted each other and downed their drinks. Heyes put his empty glass down next to the newspaper noticing that the edition was nearly a week old. Ben picked it up and grinned, "I use it to dry the glasses. Gets 'em real clean." The barkeep opened up the paper and tore off a sheet, returning his attention to his glassware.

"Mind if I read some of it? Been awhile since I caught up on the news," said Heyes.

"Sure, help yourself; I've got more."

Heyes nodded and picked up the newspaper, returning to his table. Sitting down, he opened it up again and was surprised to find a brief article on the second page about the Wells Fargo job. He began to read, but was quickly interrupted by Ben's chuckling. The barkeep was watching him read. "Yes sir, Mr. Heyes. Folks sure are having trouble believing you're still alive. You might just have to start introducing yourself when you're robbing." Heyes frowned at him and Ben wisely stopped talking and started drying. Heyes read on until he reached the final paragraph:

…rumors about Hannibal Heyes and the involvement of the Devil's Hole gang were quickly dismissed by Wells Fargo's newly promoted Regional Manager, Mr. Wilfred Standish, who said, quote, "Hogwash, this botched robbery was the work of rank amateurs from beginning to end. Heyes is dead, no matter what people want to believe, his gang is finished and the West is safer for it." Upon being further questioned about recent reports that the man killed in Leadville was not the infamous outlaw but rather a nameless drifter, Mr. Standish responded, "Poppycock, Heyes is dead and that's all I have to say. The press is just stirring up trouble to sell their rags."

Heyes couldn't believe it; Wells still stubbornly clung to the idea that he was dead despite their posse chasing the gang almost into the Hole. He sat back and picked up his cards, considering what he had read. He was relieved that no one attributed this latest fiasco to his gang, but it pricked his pride that no one knew that he was behind this winter's string of successful thefts. That was part of the fun, having folks know it was the Devil's Hole gang and having the public seeing them getting away with it. Being dead hadn't proven to be much of an advantage; he was still getting chased by posses and shot at by lawmen. The sound of his partner's footsteps coming down the stairs broke his reverie.

"Let's go find us a cook, Heyes. I'm starting to think about food," said Curry, not pausing, but walking out the batwing doors.

"Why am I not surprised?" Heyes hurried after him.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Whatcha you doin' in Heyes's cabin, Wheat?" asked Kyle. He'd caught his partner coming out the front door as he stepped up onto the porch and it was obvious Wheat had been up to something.

"I was, um…"

"You was lookin' for Heyes's money." The small greasy blond outlaw spat a stream of chaw off the porch and eyed his partner challengingly.

"So, what are you doin' here?" asked a defensive Wheat.

"Same as you. I reckon the others will be lookin' soon, too. Find anythin'?"

"Naw; didn't really expect to. Heyes said he pretty much got cleaned out. Still, it'd be nice to know where he hides it." Wheat had a few more places he wanted to check out, too.

"Mind if I look for myself?"

"Let me know if you find anythin'."

"You bet, Wheat, just like you was gonna let me know," said Kyle, shouldering past the bigger man.

"Be damn sure you don't move nothin' around."

OOOOOOOOOO

The Kid savagely yanked his latigo tight around the sack of flour he'd tossed behind the cantle of his saddle. "We'll just ride into Belton, Kid. Hire us a new cook, Kid. No big deal, Kid." He untied his horse, causing the animal to shy at the rough, quick movements of his normally calm rider.

"All right! How was I supposed to know the mine was hiring and cleaned out every able-bodied man in town?" Heyes swung up into his saddle and watched his partner mount up. "What do you want me to do? Hire a lady to cook for that band of cutthroats?"

"Ain't no women left neither, they're busy doing the men's chores. If you hadn't of run Gully off with your big mouth, we wouldn't be in this fix." The Kid swung his gelding around and jogged off without waiting for Heyes, who loped after him, pulling his horse up alongside his angry partner.

"Don't you think I know that?!"

"I hope you know, too, that the boys aren't gonna be happy about it neither." Curry refused to look at his partner, keeping his eyes trained on the road ahead.

"I know."

"I hope you also know that I ain't cooking no more. You got us into this mess, you can do the cooking."

"I will."

"You can tell the boys, too."

"Enough!" yelled a furious Heyes.

The ride back to the Hole was silent.


	15. Chapter 15

The Kid yanked the saddle off his exhausted gelding and swung it over the half-door of the stall behind him. Grabbing up a mud brush, he started cleaning the sweat off the horse's back.

Heyes turned up the lantern that was poorly lighting the dark barn and turned to his cousin. "Kid, let's call a truce okay? I don't want to fight with you. I'm real tired of fighting," said Heyes so glumly that Curry felt himself respond. They hadn't spoken for hours and the ride back to the Hole had been cold in many ways. They'd arrived home just after midnight soaking wet from the unrelenting snow.

"I don't want to fight with you either, but it grates on me that you don't tell me anything any more. Like the fact that you blackmailed Gully."

"I didn't blackmail him, I just called in a favor."

"He didn't see it that way and neither do I; and why didn't tell me about your stash? I thought you were done hiding things from me."

"Kid, we already talked about this. I told you where it was hidden."

"You didn't tell me until I already knew you had it. How come? Was it because you were never going to, because you don't trust me anymore?"

Heyes glared at his partner and slammed down the bridle he was holding. "Of course I trust you! You didn't need to know. It wasn't your money, not until something happened to me."

"So how was I going to find it; you having it so well hidden and all?" The Kid stood still, mentally challenging Heyes to lie to him.

"Soapy has my Will, the instructions are in it. He was gonna give it to you after I was dead," growled Heyes.

"You have a Will? Heyes, I'm sorry, I didn't…"

Heyes plopped down on a bale of straw and put his head in his hands. "You think I'm a liar. That I even lie to you."

"No, I was just hurt that you didn't trust me. Why didn't you tell me?" The Kid felt ashamed. Had he and Heyes grown so far apart that he should doubt his best friend's intentions?

Heyes looked up and snorted, "So you could give it to the needy folk?"

The Kid grinned, "Seems to me you've been doing a fine job of that yourself, partner."

"Where'd all your money go, Kid?" asked Heyes.

"I gave some to Mary Lou to send home to her sick Ma and old Mr. Jenks needed a new wagon to make his deliveries. I don't know about the rest; here and there, I guess." The Kid sank down onto the bale next to Heyes.

"See? That's why I didn't tell you. You run through money like you run through women. Always have. Your Ma used to say you had a hole in your pocket. She was right."

The Kid chuckled ruefully, pleased to hear Heyes speak of his mother. "I guess you've got a point."

"I haven't been lying to you, Kid. I can't lie to you."

"Heyes…"

"No, listen to me. You are the one person in the whole world that I will never lie to. I can't promise not to stretch the truth or leave a few things out here and there when it suits me-that's my nature-but, I swear I will never outright lie to you."

"You don't need to swear anything to me."

"I ain't swearing it to you, Kid. I'm swearing it to me. If I start lying to you, there won't be anything left of me…anything left of who I was before we started this life. Do you see?" Heyes looked searchingly at his cousin, sincerity etched in his face.

The Kid nodded slowly reassuring his partner that he understood. "I see, and I'm sorry I doubted you. It won't happen again."

Heyes slumped in relief. "Thanks."

Curry stood up and held out a hand to his friend, "C'mon, I'm beat. Let's wait and talk to the boys in the morning. It's late and I'm hungry."

Heyes took the offered hand and allowed the Kid to haul him to his feet. He picked up both their saddlebags and slung them over his shoulder.

"I wonder if there are any left-overs?"

"Let's dump this gear at the cabin and go see," suggested Heyes.

"Sounds good."

The two tired partners trudged through the muddy yard and onto the porch of their cabin. It was dark inside and the Kid struck a match and lit the small oil lamp he left on the railing for late night returns. He opened the door and walked in holding the lamp up high. Even in the dim light, he could sense that something was out of place. "Someone's been in here, Heyes."

"No kidding," said Heyes, pointing at the floor. "You'd think they'd have learned to wipe their feet by now."

"It's not funny. You know they were looking for the money." The Kid put the lamp down on the kitchen table and lit a large oil lamp in the living area. He opened the doors to his room and Heyes's before coming back to stand in front of his cousin.

"They didn't find anything so now they think it's all gone," smiled Heyes, knowing that Kid was worried about him sitting on a bunch of cash. The Kid nodded and took his saddlebag from his partner carrying it into his room. Heyes looked around again, seeing the faint muddy footprints all around the room. What he didn't say, was that this was a prime example of just how far his authority had slipped and that was bad; very bad.

If the men turned on him, Heyes knew they'd get the Kid out of the way first before they came for him. He couldn't allow that to happen. He'd have to rush the next job to keep things settled down. Geez, he was beginning to hate his life. He needed money fast and he wished with all his heart he could figure out a way out of the outlaw life before it took everything he had left from him.

The Kid came out of his room and walked for the door. "You coming?"

"Right behind you."

"If we're lucky, there might be some stew left we could heat up," said the Kid, hopefully.

OOOOOOOOOO

"So there ain't no cook comin'?" growled Wheat. He stood at the front of the other outlaws who were gathered on the porch of the leader's cabin, assuming a leadership position. The snow was falling heavily again and it settled a muffled silence over the rest of the Hole.

"No, there ain't," said the Kid, softly but forcefully, walking up behind the men and facing his partner, his brown hat rapidly becoming white. He'd been checking on his horse in the barn when he'd seen the boys go by heading for the cabin. It was their expressions that had drawn him out, they looked angry, and Wheat was leading them. Everything spelled trouble to the Kid. That's why he spoke up, he wanted the boys to itch with the thought of his pistol at their backs. He'd learned a long time ago that the key to being a successful gunman was understanding how to put fear in a man's heart without even drawing a weapon.

"Now boys, getting a cook is my top priority; I sent a telegram to Soapy and he's gonna send out a cook from one of those fancy restaurants in Denver that he has; someone who's real good at cooking. Trouble is, what with the weather and all, the man won't be here for at least another month or so…" Heyes was talking fast, but not fast enough.

"A month! We ain't gonna last another month without killin' each other," said Kyle.

"We need food now. I ain't eatin' rat stew again. If you can't take care of the gang, we'll find someone who can," Wheat looked at the other men, trying to muster support. "Right, boys?"

The men didn't respond, not in front of Heyes, or the Kid's gun. Of course, they had to admit to themselves, Wheat had a point. Heyes was hiding things from them. What was the money for? Were he and the Kid planning on taking off and leaving the rest of them high and dry?

"Rat stew? Who said anything about rat stew?" asked a baffled Heyes, ignoring Wheat's tiresome threats.

"I made my grandpa's special recipe. Took me all day, and these yahoots turned their noses up at it!" said Kyle, still annoyed at his favorite dish being shunned.

"Well, there's no accounting for taste is there, Kyle?" Heyes crossed his arms and looked at his men. "Look, it won't be that long. The Kid and I will do the cooking until the new man arrives."

"We will?" The Kid was frowning at Heyes. His partner nodded at him, mutely asking him to go along. He did. "We will. I brought back all sorts of stores and I promise you it'll be good."

"You ain't making the coffee, are you, Heyes?" said Lobo, suspiciously.

"No, the Kid can do it if you want."

Grudging nods happened all around and, one by one, the men drifted off the porch and trudged through the muddy snow towards the bunkhouse. Finally, only Kyle was left. Heyes chuckled, "Did you really serve them rat stew?"

Kyle grew defensive, "It's real good. They liked it just fine until they knew what was in it. John thought it was so good, he wants the recipe for his mama."

"Well, at least John liked it." said Heyes.

"Well, someone else must've, too, 'cause they ate the rest of it last night," smiled Kyle, stepping off the porch and walking away. A stunned Heyes stared at an alarmed Kid Curry.

OOOOOOOOOO

"When is this damn snow gonna stop? It's March already," groused the Kid. He was playing solitaire at the kitchen table, bored to death at being indoors.

Heyes was at his desk and crouched over a piece of paper, scribbling across it, making plans for the next job. He had to iron out the details quickly. The boys needed another heist to keep the peace. Heyes's and the Kid's cooking wasn't that great and the men were beginning to grumble again. "Hmm?"

"I said: when is the snow stopping?"

"I don't want it to stop. It's gonna be real important to the next job."

"You keep dropping hints about the next one. Don't you think it's time to let me in on it?"

Heyes sat up and smiled at his partner. He knew that the Kid was still feeling a little left out. "Sure, come over here and let me show you what I've got. I've been waiting for you to ask."

The Kid stood up, pleased, "You have?"

"Yep, it's nearly ready. I need you to look these plans over and fill in any holes you find."

The Kid sat down at the chair Heyes vacated and read the paper in front of him. After a few minutes, he chuckled once, then twice, and broke out into loud laughter, "Only you, Heyes. Only you!"

Heyes laughed, too, but stopped as the Kid sifted through the papers and pulled out an envelope glancing at it.

"What's this?" demanded the Kid, scowling, and turning around to look at his partner.

Heyes had forgotten he'd left that on his desk. He wanted to sidestep the question, but he didn't dare given the Kid's recent concerns about his character. "It's a letter."

Curry stood up and confronted Heyes, "I can see it's a damn letter, Heyes. What I want to know is why are you writing to the railroad?"

"Give me that." Heyes grabbed the envelope out of his partner's hand. He didn't want to get into this; it was just going to lead to another fight and he was tired of all the tension in the gang as it was.

The Kid wasn't going to let it go, though, "I asked you a question, Heyes. You said you weren't going to lie to me."

"Fine!" Heyes started pacing around the kitchen table. He wanted to be sure to have the table between him and his cousin when he admitted what he was doing. "Look, Kid, I've had it with being dead. It ain't all that great. Someone spots me alive and I'm still in the same fix as I was; maybe worse because a man died in my name."

"So?"

"So, I thought this string of robberies would've made someone sit up and say, Heyes is back, but it hasn't. Poker Annie already came forward and retracted her identification of the body, but nobody's listening to her. Wells turned a deaf ear to their own men on this last job, all but calling the rumors outright lies."

"I don't get it; why does it bother you? I mean no one's looking for you. Or, is it your ego that's troubling you?"

Heyes paused his pacing and smiled tightly. "Yeah, well, maybe a little, after all, we did the jobs, we should get the glory. But, it's more than that; they're still looking for you, aren't they? I still ride with you, don't I? What do you think is gonna happen when someone, say some sheriff who knows me, sees me riding with you? They're going to start wondering how did good old Clint die and just how much was I involved in his demise? How long do you think it would be before I found a murder charge attached to my newly printed wanted poster? What's more, if you're riding with me, how long do you think it's would be before someone decided you were in on it, too, and tacked that same charge on your head?"

That got the Kid's attention. He considered his partner's words and realized that Heyes was right. There were big risks to both of them if Heyes continued to be dead. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Heyes shook the letter he held. "This is what I'm gonna do."

"Write a letter? Dear Sirs, I'm alive and I'll be robbing you shortly?" snorted the Kid.

"I'm writing a personal letter to the Manager of the railroad."

"I see that, but why?"

"Let's just say that I have some information that's going to be embarrassing for them when it gets out."

"Heyes, you aren't planning to blackmail the railroad, are you?" groaned the Kid.

"No, I'm not. What I am planning to do is to make it plain to someone, someone who'll be listened to, that I'm alive." Heyes gripped the back of the chair he stood behind. It was clear to his partner that he was committed to this plan.

"How are you gonna do that?" The Kid pulled out the chair opposite from Heyes and sat down. Heyes leaned towards him across the kitchen table.

"Remember when we robbed that train a few years ago—the one outside of Cheyenne?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I found something in the safe; a registered letter from the Manager to the President of the railroad. Let's just say, that letter never got to where it was going and our railroad friends know it was in the safe that I opened. It was on the manifest of stolen goods. The law knows I took it and so do the newspapers."

"Didn't they up our rewards after that job?"

"Yep."

"Because you had the letter?"

"Probably, but I forgot all about it. I never even read it, just tucked it away in my desk with a bunch of other mail that had been in the safe. It slipped down a crack at the back of the desk. The railroad probably figured I'd thrown it away. I came across it this morning when I was digging around for some more paper."

"You never read it? That ain't like you," observed the Kid.

"I know. It just got lost in the shuffle," Heyes chuckled, but sobered quickly, "I read it today. I wish I'd read it when I took it, it's real bad. The railroad doesn't want this to get out."

"Great, that's just great; like they aren't already mad enough at us. Okay, what's so damning about this letter?"

"There's a bunch of ranchers who fought the railroad coming through their land. They refused to have it cross their properties and the railroad didn't have time to take it legally by Imminent Domain since they were in a race to span the West. Instead, they sent a front man in to buy up what they needed. They do that all the time when it suits them. Only they didn't choose real well this time, and this man ended up burning down a ranch house, killing a woman and her two children. The railroad worked real hard to cover it up and the details are in this letter."

"Geez, that's pretty damning. Shouldn't you be sending this to the law?"

"I am, but when has the law sided against the railroad? Besides, the man acted alone, the railroad's crime was in covering it up after they found out about it."

"But this is murder."

"I know. That's why I'm also sending a letter to the Cheyenne Leader."

"The Leader? Ain't that owned by a bunch of cattlemen?"

"It is. That woman and her kids deserve justice, Kid."

The Kid nodded his agreement and his chest rumbled with laughter, "You're gonna have the whole West screaming you're alive."

"It's about time. I've done everything I can think of short of announcing who we are at the beginning of a job."

OOOOOOOOOO

Several weeks later, the Kid and Heyes watched from their rockers on the sunny porch of the leader's cabin as Hank and Lobo rode into the yard leading a heavily laden mule. The two had taken a few days off to party in Belton. Heyes had started a rotation of time off to help improve morale by sending his men, two at a time, to blow off steam and pick up supplies in the nearby town.

The cooking hadn't improved yet, but the grumbling sure had. Spring was just around the corner and the weather was looking up, too. Snowstorms still blew through the Hole, but less frequently, and they were often followed by warm spells like this one. It wouldn't be long before conditions were right for the next job and Heyes wanted his men ready to steal.

"The boys look relaxed. When are you and me gonna take a turn riding into town?" asked the Kid, leaning back in his chair, and raising his face to the warm sunlight. He sure could use a good meal for a change; and, a lovely lady, too.

Heyes drew on his cigar as he watched Lobo and Hank unpacking the mule and carrying the gear into the barn and the food to the cookhouse. It was his turn to cook tonight. Hell, he was getting tired of eating his own slop. A night in town sounded good to him, too, but now wasn't the time. If all went well, they'd be pulling the next job in a few days. He glanced up at the sky, pleased to see a few clouds drifting in. He just might be the only man in the Hole wishing for more snow and it looked like it could happen.

"Soon, Kid. Real soon."

"Brought you something, Heyes," said Hank, walking towards his leaders, grinning widely, and holding up a newspaper. A giant headline leapt off the front page. "Hannibal Heyes Is Alive! Reveals Railroad Tragedy!"

Heyes came trotting down the steps to meet Hank. He grabbed the paper, grinned at the Kid, and laughed wickedly, "It's about time!"


	16. Chapter 16

"Why'd you volunteer, Lobo?" questioned Wheat.

Lobo shrugged and dropped his trouser leg over the twin sticks of dynamite taped to his right leg. "Heyes's paying us double."

"Dynamite's safe enough, Wheat, if you don't let it get too hot or too cold. We ain't letting it get cold. That's why we've got it taped to our legs," said Kyle.

"You say that now. I'll check back with you two after you blow your damn legs off." Wheat saw Heyes by the horses. He had a big bucket of axle grease next to him and he lifted Hank's horse's leg and applied a large dollop of lubricant to the animal's foot, thoroughly covering the hoof. Wall-eyed had re-shod all the horses again last week and they all wore his specially designed snow shoes. It had snowed hard for the last three days; one of those fierce springtime storms that left a heavy, wet snow on the mountains and rain in the valleys. Exactly the weather Heyes had been hoping for.

Wheat tried to walk towards his leader, but the snowshoes he had strapped to his feet felt awkward and he had to go slowly in the deep snow. It had been years since he'd worn them and they took some getting used to. He wasn't the only one. Heyes had all the men practicing so they'd be comfortable by the time the job started. He smiled slightly as he saw Heyes unsteadily walking over to the Kid.

"How much time's left?" asked Curry.

Heyes fished in his pocket and pulled out his old, dented pocket watch. "If they're running on time, we've got a little less than two hours to get ready."

"You sure conditions are right?"

"Yes. Are the flags still in place?" He and the Kid had scouted the location last week marking out the critical positions for the boys. They'd used different color strips of cloth tied to tree branches or stakes so there would be no confusion about who was supposed to go where: Kyle was green and Lobo was white; brown for Hank, purple for Wall-eyed, red for John and…Heyes couldn't resist…yellow for Wheat.

"They are. I've gotta hand it to you, partner, you've taken stealing to a whole new height this winter," chuckled the Kid.

"Thanks. It's worked out pretty well, but next winter; no matter what I say; make me go somewhere warm."

"Don't worry, I will."

OOOOOOOOOO

A dimpled grin flashed across Heyes's face at the faint sound of the freight train clacking along the tracks. There were four switchbacks snaking up the steep hillside before reaching the summit. The train would be going slowly up the grade and ought to have no trouble stopping for them. That was critical. Heyes knew that it could take a fast-moving train nearly a mile to stop and he didn't want anyone getting hurt.

All of his men were within sight, and Heyes waved his arm over his head to signal the train's approach, watching as the boys melted into the forest and readied for the train's arrival. Glancing up the ridge, he saw Kyle and Lobo slipping out of sight behind the twin cornices curling away from the sharp edges of the mountain top. A nervous excitement roiled in his stomach as he backed away from the edge of the forest. The large tracks his snowshoes had left would not be visible from the train. He loved the start of a job; the thrill of anticipation, facing the risks. Would all his planning pay off or not? He glanced across the tracks towards the Kid, who was smiling broadly. Heyes grinned back. It was almost here.

OOOOOOOOOO

The soot floating up the hill from the engine's smokestack struck the Kid's eyes causing them to water. He blinked several times and wiped his sleeve across his face. He could feel the vibrations of the huge engine shaking the ground beneath the snow. He took a deep, relaxing breath and drew his gun. Curry was calm and focused on the job ahead; any second now.

OOOOOOOOOO

Kyle kept his eyes on the train and his hand gripping the small white flag Heyes had given him. He'd wave it when the train was in position to let Lobo know the time to act had come. He was happy and excited to try something new using his beloved dynamite. That was the best part of working for Hannibal Heyes; he always came up with good plans. If this worked, the Devil's Hole gang was going to be famous all over again.

OOOOOOOOOO

Lobo took another bite of jerky and shoved the remainder in his pocket. He was ready. The train was parallel to his position on the top of the crest and going into the last curve before the top. It would only be another couple of minutes or so.

OOOOOOOOOO

Wheat hunched down under the snow laden branches and watched the tracks. He could see the light of the engine, but the thick smoke veiled the train from his sight. The smell of burning coal was heavy in the air and he inhaled it; it was almost as fragrant to him as that French perfume Lily had been wearing the last time he saw her. He'd buy her some more after this job. Wheat was looking forward to having his pockets filled again.

OOOOOOOOOO

Wall-eyed was eagerly watching the train straining up the last, steep section of track before the summit. It had been a tough couple of weeks. Heyes had put a limit on the poker games, keeping the betting low and he'd held the boys to it. The boss had said that he didn't want any fights over money being won or loss. Wall-eyed wasn't sure he agreed. Gambling wasn't the problem, the food was. The boys were fairly bored and there'd been lots of grumbling, but there was a lot of grumbling about everything these days especially from Wheat.

OOOOOOOOOO

John sat back against the trunk of the spruce tree he was hiding under. His eyes were half-closed, but he could see the train through his thick dark lashes. He would relax for a few more minutes.

OOOOOOOOOO

Hank listened for the rumble of the train. He thought he could hear it, but he was pretty far away from the action. Not that he minded; someone had to watch the horses and have them ready to go. After the stagecoach fiasco, he was glad to have an easy job. He waited.

OOOOOOOOOO

"C'mon, baby. That's it. C'mon," mumbled Kyle. He spit out a gob of chaw before rolling up his pant leg and loosening the tape around the sticks of dynamite. He rose to a crouch and waved the white flag, quickly dropping it into the snow. Tearing the first stick from his leg, he grimaced as the hair came off with the tape. Striking a match, he lit the long fuse. It sparkled brightly and began to burn; he wouldn't need the spare. Kyle stood up and lobbed the explosive onto the top of the thick cornice of snow in front of him. He dropped to the ground and rolled away from the dynamite down the back of the hill coming to rest in a deep patch of snow. From there, he could see Lobo laying on his stomach a stick of dynamite in one hand. Kyle cupped his ears and waited. He giggled with delight.

OOOOOOOOOO

Lobo saw the explosion before he heard it. A cloud of snow rose into the air and a crack appeared in the cornice Kyle had blasted. A heavy load of snow broke away in one solid chunk and slid down the steep hillside, slowly at first, but rapidly gaining speed like a wave cresting on the ocean. As the avalanche barreled down the hill it grew in width and scope, dropping tall trees as though they were twigs, the cracks of breaking limbs sounding like gunshots, until a wall of snow and debris slid firmly in place burying the tracks under thirty feet of snow. He heard the train braking. Lobo lit his dynamite and held it, waiting for the fuse to catch. It sparked and sputtered, dying out. Laying it gently down in the snow, he pulled the second stick from his leg. This one lit easily and he threw it onto the backside of the cornice in front of him and slid away from the blast area. The explosion happened before he reached the bottom of the hill and clods of snow struck him as he rolled the last few feet. He laughed and stood up knocking the snow off his jacket before reaching for the snowshoes sticking up by their tails from the snow bank behind him. He could hear a dull roar from the other side of the hill and he listened intently until there was silence. Pulling on his shoes, he heard the first gunshot and laughed again. It had worked!

OOOOOOOOOO

Wheat couldn't believe his eyes. A huge mound of snow had landed exactly at the spot Heyes had indicated it would. How the hell had he done that? The train's brakes screeched through the cold mountain air and, a minute or two later, he saw the second slide landing less than a mile behind the train effectively sealing off any escape for the hapless engineer. He had to give it to Heyes, he might have thought this one up, but he knew he never could've pulled it off. Emerging from his hiding place, he hurried as fast as he could on his snowshoes keeping to the oblique angle of approach that Heyes had selected. He would be hidden by the massive blind spot in the engine compartment.

OOOOOOOOOO

The engineer and the fireman jumped down from the engine and walked towards the mountain of snow on the tracks. "Dammit all to hell, Danny, I knew that cornice was coming down soon. If the boss had only listened to me…" said the engineer, Mike. The two men had missed the first blast over the noise of the engine, but Lobo's explosion reached their ears and they turned as one, watching in shock as the second avalanche gathered strength and roared down the hillside.

"What the hell was that?" yelled Danny, staring agog at the huge drift of snow. A gunshot caused him to jump and he turned back only to find the muzzle of a six-gun aimed at his heart. It was held by a dark-haired man.

"Stand and Deee-liver!" said Heyes with a huge, dimpled grin and shining eyes.

Standing slightly behind and to the right of Heyes, the Kid held his Colt .45. "Why'd you say that?"

"I don't know." Heyes shrugged. "I thought it sounded kind of good."

"Can't you just say hands up, reach for the sky; drop your drawers or something? They're standing already and it don't look to me like they have anything on them to deliver," said Curry with a disapproving frown.

Mike looked from one outlaw to the other, but Danny kept his eyes on the two steady guns pointed at them.

"It's an expression. The old highwaymen in England have been saying it for years," answered Heyes, no longer smiling, and sounding somewhat defensive.

"Well, we ain't in England and you ain't old yet, neither." The Kid frisked the two men efficiently and stepped back. "They're okay."

Further down the train, the head brakeman and the rear brakeman stood with their hands in the air. Wall-eyed stood with his gun drawn in front of the brakemen and Wheat was pushing open boxcar doors, peering inside each car before moving onto the next. He yelled clear as he searched each one. John jumped into the caboose looking for other railroad employees.

Mike turned slightly at the noise and saw the other outlaws at work. He knew it wouldn't take them long to find the safe. He looked back to the men in front of him. "Sirs, I don't know who you are, but you've made a grave mistake. This is a special freight train on lease to Wells Fargo. If you rob it, you'll have to deal with Wells' _**and **_the railroad's security teams. They'll hunt you down and likely kill you for the trouble you've caused." Mike watched the grin on the dark-haired man grow impossibly wider.

"They've been hunting us for years, I reckon we'll take our chances," said the Kid.

"Let me help you save your breath, mister. I'm Hannibal Heyes." He ignored Curry's glare.

"Heyes? Ain't you supposed to be dead?" asked Mike.

"You don't read much, do you?" Heyes was exasperated. How long was it going to take for word to get around?

"Are you…? Danny asked the Kid.

The Kid rolled his eyes at his partner. It had finally come to this; Heyes had them announcing who they were. He sighed. "I'm Kid Curry."

The two men's arms shot into the air and they appeared to be afraid for the first time. The Kid smiled smugly at his partner.

"Keep it up, Kid, and your head's gonna get too big for that ugly hat," snapped Heyes.

"What's wrong with it? I like this hat." The Kid reached up and touched the floppy brown hat on his head.

Gunfire broke out at the rear of the train. The outlaws had found the safe and the two men who had been guarding it. Heyes started running towards the ruckus, but Curry held his gun on the two men, gesturing for them to lead the way more slowly.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Easy money, Kid, that safe was a piece of cake," laughed Heyes, handing down the money sacks, one at a time. The growls of the two bound and gagged guards Wheat had found in the boxcar reached a fever pitch as Curry took the bags and passed them along to Wheat. The big outlaw was still pissed at the stray shot the one guard had gotten off at him before John had gotten the drop on the man. The bullet had missed flesh, but another of his good shirts had a bullet hole in it. At this rate, he'd be spending all his new-found cash on clothes.

Heyes lifted the last money bag from the safe and set it on the floor of the car. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a sheet of folded paper, and tucked it inside the pocket of one of the bound Wells Fargo guards. He grinned and patted the man's shoulder. The guard glared at him and pulled away.

"What's that?" asked Curry as his partner scooped up the sack of cash and came to the door.

"It's a note for our good friend at the Laramie office, Mr. Wilbur Hastings. I thought I ought to let him know that if Wells keeps denying the Devil's Hole gang's back, we're just going to have to keep trying to convince them."

"Don't you think you've written enough notes lately, Heyes?"

Heyes smiled and handed the Kid the last bag. "Can I help it if I've got a lot to say?"

"What's the matter? Have you plumb wore out that silver tongue of your?" smirked Curry. Heyes jumped down and the two men waved to Wall-eyed, who began shepherding the railroad men back to the train.

John ran up to his leaders. "Boss, Wheat and me searched the whole thing. Ain't any weapons left other than a couple of axes, some wrenches, and the poker for the firebox. Wheat found a few rifles and a couple of pistols, but not much ammo. He took those."

"Thanks, John. You and Wheat can go on. We'll be right behind you." Heyes and the Kid walked over to Wall-eyed and the trainmen.

"Thanks. Take up your position in the trees, we'll be along shortly," said the Kid. Wall-eyed nodded, holstered his gun, and left.

"So, gentlemen, we're going to leave you now. You've got plenty of firewood to stay warm." Heyes gestured to the wood piled into the gondola car behind the engine. I'm assuming you all have something to eat, but if not, here's some jerky. You can melt snow for water." He reached into his winter coat and pulled out a bag, tossing it at the feet of the engineer, who made no move to pick it up, but instead stared at Heyes with an expression of abject hatred. "Now, listen up, that snow's too deep for you to follow us and I wouldn't recommend trying it. You're liable to freeze to death. If you sit tight and stay on the train, it shouldn't be more than a day or two before they find you. We left you your shovels in case you get bored," chuckled Heyes.

"We're gonna go now, and we'll be keeping you covered. Don't move until we're gone. You hear?" The Kid kept his gun on the men with his right hand and took the spare pistol from his gun belt holding it in his left.

"He's got twelve bullets and I promise you, he don't miss. My man in the trees will be keeping an eye on you, too," said Heyes. The smiling dark-haired outlaw hefted the cash bags and plodded away on his snowshoes. The Kid let his partner get back to the tree line, then loudly yelled, "Do you have 'em covered?"

From the shelter of the trees, Heyes and Wall-eyed yelled that they did. The Kid grinned and tipped his head to the trainmen. "Gentlemen, thank you kindly."

Mike watched the outlaw disappear into the trees and he pulled off his hat, throwing it to the ground, yelling language strictly forbidden by the railroad employee handbook.


	17. Chapter 17

Heyes banged his heavily laden tray down on the bunkhouse table, spilling the beer over the rims of the full mugs. "Dig in; you've earned a few beers." Laughter rippled around the table and greedy hands grabbed the mugs, pulling them to eager lips. He had just finished splitting up the loot and had a haunch of beef grilling over an open fire in the yard. Spirits were running high all around the room. They'd celebrate tonight and tomorrow they'd go their separate ways for a while. Heyes was relieved that they'd managed to get through the winter without a new cook.

Wall-eyed and John were staying on at the Hole to keep an eye on things, but the rest of them had other plans. Spring had arrived and the snow was melting quickly. While the weather was improving, it could be unseasonably warm one day and snowing the next. The ground was turning into a quagmire and Heyes knew that his men had no desire to work until the mountains dried out. They'd meet up here again in mid-May.

Wheat surfaced from his brew first, his mustache dripping ale. He raised his mug and grinned, "To warm weather and warm women."

"You heading south, Wheat?" asked the Kid, lifting his mug and drinking deeply.

"Yep. Kyle and me are hoppin' a train to Brownsville day after tomorrow. I've got an old friend down that way; made a fortune smugglin' cotton durin' the war. Got himself a big fancy casa on the Rio Grande and filled it with pretty senoritas."

"Wheat says we might even go to the ocean. I ain't never seen the Gulf of Mexico," added Kyle, grinning with pleasure.

"Me and Hank are going to Tucson," said Lobo, "Where are you headed?"

Heyes deflected the question. "John, you sure you're okay with staying on here?" He'd noticed the disconsolate expression Garcia was wearing.

John nodded, "Magdalena sent a telegram last week to Mr. Jakes for me. She wants me to stay away. The Federales have been making surprise raids. Took my neighbor's goats and burned his house down. She's afraid of what they'd do if they found me there." John had a faraway look in his eyes and his friends knew he was missing his family.

He had been in the states so long that he'd nearly lost his accent and could pass for a Texan with little trouble. Maybe it was a sign that he was supposed to stay here. He wondered if and when he'd ever get to go home. He loved his wife and kids but he could barely remember the dusty little farm he'd ridden away from so many years ago; when he had ceased being Juan and become John. The creased photograph of his Magdalena was so worn from him rubbing his cheek across it that her face had all but disappeared. His oldest boy was grown, eighteen now, and the man of the family; the youngest had been a baby when he left. Would they ever welcome him back or were they content to live their lives without him?

Wheat cleared his throat drawing attention away from John and giving the man a chance to pull himself together. He knew how hard it was to be an outcast from the only family you'd known. His pa had driven him off when he wasn't quite fourteen. "Heyes, what I wanna know is how you knew where that mess of snow was gonna land."

Pleased to keep the conversation steered away from his own future plans, Heyes smiled smugly. "When the Kid and I scouted that area, we knew we wanted to stop the train on the uphill grade since that's where it'd be going the slowest; but that raised other problems. The only place to hide was that stand of trees a good forty yards from the tracks."

The Kid grinned and leaned forward, eager to join in. "The snow was already deep along that stretch being that it was north facing and shaded by the peak. Me and Heyes knew we'd never get to the train from those trees without being sitting ducks in a shooting gallery. Snowshoes would work to get us there, but we'd have to walk too slowly and we'd be picked off before we made it. I can tell you, we scratched our heads over it for long time, but we kept coming up empty."

Heyes picked up the conversation again, "Since we had to catch the train going by once or twice so we could get the timing down right, we ended up camping in those trees for a couple of days. It snowed the second night we were there. You remember that big wet snow last month?"

Wheat nodded. He was hanging on every word. If he wanted to be leader, he knew he had to learn how to come up with clever plans. He'd have no problem with a regular robbery, but few robberies proved to be standard and this one certainly hadn't been. He was nobody's fool and he knew he could still learn a thing or two from Heyes, much as he hated to admit it to himself. Sure as hell, he wasn't about to admit it to anyone else.

The men were spellbound listening to their leader explaining how he had worked out the details; they all appreciated a good plan. Each of them had made out well on this job and they could finally afford to take a break and have some fun. Lobo was lying on his bunk with his eyes closed, drinking it all in. Someday he'd try his hand at a robbery where he didn't have to share the take. Right now, he had a hard time taking his mind off the thought of the poker and women in Tucson, but he wanted to know the answer to Wheat's question, too.

Hank was mending his girth in the rocker by the woodstove. A couple of strands of the wool had frayed and he wanted it in good condition for the long ride south. He was barely listening, contented to be a follower; his life was a whole lot less complicated that way.

"Well, the morning after the snow, I got up early to make coffee. I poured myself a cup while it was still brewing, then went over and sat on a downed tree to watch the sun rise while I waited for the Kid to wake up. We'd sat up late, talking things over, trying to come up with a plan that wouldn't be too risky. The sun was halfway up the sky and he still wasn't stirring, so I walked up to the edge of the trees and studied the tracks. I couldn't get up close to the rails because I couldn't afford to leave footprints that might be seen from a train. That's what did it."

"Did what?" asked Kyle. Both of his elbows were on the table and he was resting his head in his hands, avidly waiting for the next part of the story.

"Triggered the plan," said the Kid, beaming now at his brilliant partner. "Heyes figured it out because he could see the big picture."

"How so?" asked Wall-eyed.

Heyes set down his beer and gestured with his hands. "I was looking up at those two, big cornices wondering if they were going to be a problem. Thinking how, if we got too much more snow, they'd avalanche, covering the tracks, and we'd lose our chance to take the train. While I was standing there, a chunk of rotten snow broke off and caused a small slide. That's when it struck me how the snow slid right down that channel in the mountain just like coal down a chute."

"Heyes got so excited, he booted me awake. Fortunately for him, I got what he was babbling at me before I tanned him good." The Kid leaned back in his chair, lifting it onto its back legs.

"I still don't get it," said Wheat.

"The snow funneled down the mountain according to the contours of the hillside. It slipped and slid its way down the chute until it lost steam. All we had to do was to wait for enough snow to fall on the cornices so that when they slid, the avalanche would go all the way to the tracks. You could see, clear as day, exactly where the snow would end up. It would stop the train and we'd have the element of surprise."

"But how'd you know you had enough snow?" asked Wheat.

"There's a formula for everything, Wheat," smiled Heyes. "All I had to do was estimate how much had broken off, how far it had traveled, approximate its weight, and come up with an idea of how much more snow needed to pile up on the cornices in order to make it to the tracks. The dynamite would guarantee that it all came down."

"Yeah, and it wasn't exact science. All we needed was enough snow to snap a few trees and drag them down the hillside. If the snow didn't stop the train, the debris would," said the Kid, almost as smug as Heyes. He'd loved this plan. Very little risk and lots of rewards. If only all of Heyes's plans could all be so easy.

"Huh," said Wheat, sitting back in his chair. "Lucky for you, it snowed again."

The Kid patted his bulging shirt pocket. "Lucky for all of us."

OOOOOOOOOO

A single finger rose up, pushing the brim of the brown hat up. The Kid opened his drowsy eyes and turned to his partner. "Tell me again why we didn't just go south."

Heyes pulled the collar of his grey jacket up and hunched his shoulders, settling into his seat again. The Denver Pacific train lurched along the rails at a steady clip. He and the Kid had ridden with Kyle and Wheat for two days in miserable wet weather to pick up their trains in Greeley. The wetter they'd gotten, the surlier they had all had become. Wheat and Kyle had left the next day on a southbound train. The Kid and Heyes boarded the Denver train early this morning.

The Kid hadn't said a word since they'd hopped the train; instead, he'd pulled his hat down and fell into an exhausted sleep. "I've got some business to take care of in Denver. You can head south if you want," said Heyes.

"And leave you prancing around Denver alone? Nope, can't do that; not with you risen from the dead." The Kid closed his eyes again, and quickly fell back to sleep.

Turning his attention out the window, Heyes watched the miles roll by. The mountains were a soft charcoal in the early morning light. Their jagged peaks outlined against the clear blue sky. He loved this land; the sheer immensity of it all; the sky, the space, the lack of people. But it was changing, people were moving West in huge numbers looking for free land and fresh starts. Homesteading was on the rise. How long would it be before his beloved West was teeming like the eastern cities?

The buffalo were already nearly gone; massacred by the Army in an effort to subdue the Indian threat. The stately creatures had populated the plains by the billions. Now their bones littered the prairies and high desert; the meat stripped from them and shipped east as a novelty food for a greedy population. It had worked, too, the Indians were suffering, their lives forever altered by the loss of the once plentiful bison.

The gold and silver rushes had begun mid-century and the Indians' fate had been sealed by the clash of cultures. Thousands of hopeful prospectors had swarmed to the Rockies and the Sierras. Filthy mining camps sprang up in the most unlikely of places and grew into towns which drew more people hoping to find prosperity in the rapidly growing West. When Heyes had been a child, the native population had been a real threat. Caution and diplomacy had been demanded when traveling through their lands. Now, as an outlaw, he rarely encountered Indians, although uprisings were common. The slaughter of the buffalo was a key plan in the army's war on the Indians, but the real battle would be won by attrition caused by starvation and disease. The Army was turning its sights on the outlaws, too, its goal to sweep the West clean of all perceived pestilents. He and the Kid included.

Well, he was doing his best to keep the West undesirable for the honest folk. A few more winters like this last one and the Army would forget about the Indians and lay siege to Devil's Hole. Heyes chuckled softly and settled back into his own seat. He pulled his hat down to hide his face from his fellow travelers, pulled a book from his pocket, and began to read. He and the Kid never slept in public at the same time. It was his turn to keep watch.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Mr. James! Mr. Boswell! Over here!" Heyes swung his head around looking for the source of the voice calling out their former aliases. He hadn't meant to use the same ones as he had on the last trip to Denver and he was irritated at being recognized. He felt exposed, waiting by the train for their baggage, and glanced at his partner who gestured at a small, slim man hurrying towards them down the long platform. It was a second or two before Heyes realized it was Corky. Gone were the worn, plain clothes his spy had favored and, in their place, was an elegant suit of fine fabric. The young burglar looked much more the young banker. He stopped breathlessly in front of the two infamous outlaws.

"Good to see you, Corky," said the Kid.

"It's Charles now, Mr. Boswell, and it's grand to see you, too." Charles held out his hand, shaking Curry's firmly. "I'm here to pick you up for Mr. Saunders."

"Charles?" Heyes wondered what had evinced such a dramatic change in his employee; even his speech was more polished and less accented.

"Yes sir. It's my real name. My blokes called me Corky, but my ma christened me Charles. Mr. Saunders told me I needed a man's name if I was going to go very far in business." Charles tugged at his suit jacket and straightened his sleeves as Heyes raised his eyebrows. His former mentor had apparently found another protégé.

"He's taken me under his wing, sir. Says I have a real talent for making money. I'm running some of his games for him now and, he says if I work real hard at it, I might be almost as good as you someday." Noting the outlaw's surprise at the praise, Charles reddened thinking he'd been too forward. That was another thing Mr. Saunders had told him; he needed to let his brain catch up with his mouth.

The porter handed down Heyes's carpetbag and the Kid's saddlebags. Heyes took them and set them down on the platform by his feet, reaching into his pocket for a tip. Charles reached for them, but the Kid waved him off, picking the luggage up. "I've got it. You don't need to wait on us, Co…Charles."

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir. The carriage is waiting for us in front of the station." Charles started walking. "Mr. James, I want you to know that my new responsibilities have in no way interfered with my working for you. I am still keeping our network running smoothly."

"I know you are and you're doing a great job. That last bit of information was very lucrative for us and I'm grateful. When we get to Soapy's place, I'll show you just how grateful that is," grinned Heyes reassuringly to his young friend.

Charles beamed. "I've come across a new tidbit that I think will also please you."

OOOOOOOOOO

Jordan opened the ornately carved front door and smiled at the sight of his two favorite reprobates standing on the doorstep. "Mr. Heyes, Mr. Curry, welcome. Please come in." He stepped outside and held the door as they entered, watching Charles pulling the carriage around the back of the house.

"Thank you, Jordan, is Soapy in?" Heyes pulled off his black hat and grey jacket handing them to the butler. The Kid shrugged off his sheepskin coat, placing it and his brown hat on the coat rack tucked into the corner of the hallway.

"Yes sir, Mr. Saunders is in his study. May I say how good it is to see you again? I understand from the newspapers that you've had an extremely profitable winter. Congratulations to you both." He was proud of them, having had no small hand in taming these two as wild teenagers.

"It's good to see you, too." Heyes walked down the hall to the double doors of Soapy's study and pulled them open.

The Kid peeked through the doorway over his cousin's shoulder and saw their friend bent over his desk, writing. He cleared his throat and the older man looked up, frowning at the interruption. A smile sprang to his face upon recognizing his dear friends.

"Don't just stand there, come in. Come in and have a seat." Soapy stood up and gestured to the two armchairs arranged across from his desk. He picked up a fireplace poker and stirred the ashes in the hearth in hopes of coaxing a little more warmth from them.

"Soapy, let me do that," Heyes walked over and picked up a couple of split logs from the holder, placing them on the fire grate, then using the bellows, he fanned the coals into flames.

"It always was your job, wasn't it, Heyes?" smiled Soapy fondly.

"Yeah, and I had to take out the garbage," laughed the Kid, "No favoritism here."

"The last time you built a fire in this house, young man, you left a trail of soot from here to the kitchen door you can still see on my good oriental carpets," chided Soapy, but without any real rancor. He sat down, signaling the younger men to do the same. "So you have my curiosity aroused. To what do I owe this visit?"

"We're just taking a break and what better place to blow off a little steam than in Denver with our good friend?" replied Heyes sincerely.

"Shame on you, Heyes, trying to con an old con," chuckled Soapy, pulling a bottle from his desk drawer and reaching back inside for three glasses. He set them upright on the desktop and poured a small measure of scotch into each one.

"Heyes says he has some business to take care of." Curry took the offered glass and ignored his partner's exasperated glare.

"Business? Is there something I can help you with, Heyes? I'm assuming you need my help, of course," said Soapy kindly. He handed Heyes a drink and sat back down at his desk waiting for his former student to tell him what he needed.

Heyes looked at the Kid pointedly, annoyed to have been put on the spot. "I want to change my will. I want to add a bequest to Allie. I know she doesn't want money from me and I know it wouldn't do her any good if she was tied to a notorious outlaw but, if I was dead, it would be a different story. I could leave the money with you and you could give it to her directly. No one would know where it came from, except you, my executor. She'd know it was from me, she's not stupid, but she'd have a hard time giving it back." Heyes sat back in the chair and smiled. He'd thought long and hard about this; by funding the Second Chance through Soapy's help; he'd created a dependency that worried him. He knew his days were numbered and, as it stood now, with his demise the money that the ranch depended on would dry up quickly. He wanted to know that the ranch and Allie would be taken care when he was gone.

"Heyes…"

"Don't try to talk me out of this, Soapy. That's why I didn't tell the Kid. I'm dead set on going through with it. You can set up an account for me under your name at the First Merchant's Bank of Denver. I'm sure they've improved their security since I robbed it. Here's an initial deposit that ought to be able to draw a nice amount of interest and I'll step up the amount of money I send each month. You can deposit half to the account." Heyes stood up and reached into his jacket, pulling out a tightly bound wad of bills and dropping it on the desk as Soapy interrupted him.

"Heyes, there's something you need to know."

"If you can't do this for me, I'll…"

"Listen to me!" said Soapy firmly.

Heyes stared at his dear friend, startled by the look of pity that crept onto Soapy's face. He felt the air in the room grow heavy. "What? Is Allie all right?" Panic choked him. "Did something happen to her? What's wrong?"

"Sit down and do not say another word until I've finished speaking to you!" growled Soapy. Heyes sat. "She's fine. Nothing has happen to her."

"Get to the point, Soapy," warned the Kid. He didn't like the look on Heyes's face.

"The point is she doesn't need your help anymore. The ranch has been a complete success and she's taken on a partner to help finance the operation." Soapy knew it was going to hurt his young friend to be cut out of Miss Golden's life, but it was time for him to let her go. He had been alarmed by the Devil's Hole gang's crime spree over the winter and knew that Heyes's was pushing his luck in his desire to make more and more money.

"Who is it?" asked Heyes, warily.

"Her neighbor, Scott Medgar; he's been extremely generous in his support and has brought the ranch to the attention of other benefactors. The charities that had been supporting the ranch are moving onto other, more needy, projects. I can continue to make contributions if you wish, but I can no longer assure you that they will go to the ranch."

"Scott Medgar?" Heyes felt an ugly knot of jealousy form in his chest. He lifted his glass and knocked back the scotch in one gulp.

The Kid felt for his partner. The only link Heyes had left to Allie was the money he sent to support her and now he was losing even that small tie. He put his hand on his partner's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "She's done good. You should be real proud of her."

Heyes sat silently. His muscles finally relaxed under Curry's grip and he sighed, "I am proud of her."

"Come on, then. Let's take some of that hard earned cash and go blow off some of that steam you were talking about. Okay?" said the Kid.

Heyes stood up and nodded. "Give me a few minutes, will you?" He walked out of the room and a moment later, the Kid and Soapy heard the front door open and shut.


End file.
